£359 

359  B 


ALICE  DEVINE 


ALICE  DEVINE 


By 

EDGAR  JEPSON 

Author  of  POLLYOOLY,  HAPPY  POLLYOOLV 
THE  TERRIBLE  TWINS,  ETC. 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1S16 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS    Of 

BRAUNWOPTH   *   CO. 

BOOKBINDERS   *NO   PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN.   N.   V. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I    I  BECOME  A  HOUSE-AGENT 1 

II    THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT 17 

III  THE  ANARCHISTS 41 

IV  THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  AT  No.  12 70 

V  HERBERT  POLKINGTON'S  UNCERTAINTY      ....  107 

VI  THE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT  POLKINGTON      ....  130 

VII    THE  GARDEN  ANGEL 148 

VIII    LOST  LORD  CANTELUNE 165 

IX    THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 180 

X    THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL 220 

XI    THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY 255 

XII    WALSH  INTERVENES 292 

XIII  THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE  327 


S136347  * 


ALICE  DEVINE 


ALICE  DEVINE 


I  BECOME  A  HOUSE-AGENT 

I  AM  Garthoyle;  but  the  Gardens  were  not 
called  after  me.  My  uncle,  Algernon  Gar- 
thoyle, built  them,  a  triangle  of  twenty-one  houses 
in  the  heart  of  Mayfair,  and  called  them  after 
himself.  When  after  the  poor  old  chap's  funeral, 
his  will  was  read,  and  I  found  that  he  had  left  them 
to  me,  I  was  indeed  surprised.  I  had  always  taken 
it  for  granted  that  he  would  leave  them  to  that 
strenuous  politician,  my  cousin,  Herbert  Polking- 
ton.  So  had  Herbert;  and  he  did  look  disgusted. 
I  should  have  thought  myself  deucedly  lucky  if  my 
uncle  had  left  me  half  of  the  hundred  thousand 
pounds  he  had  invested  outside  the  Gardens;  the 
Gardens  themselves,  twenty-five  thousand  a  year, 
sounded  too  good  to  be  true. 

But  there  is  always  a  fly  in  the  ointment;  and 
the  clause  in  the  will  in  which  the  Gardens  were 

i 


2  ALICE  DEVINE 

left  to  me,  ended  with  the  words:  "Certain  con- 
ditions are  attached  to  this  bequest,  which  will  be 
communicated  to  Lord  Garthoyle  by  my  solicitors.'* 
All  that  evening  I  wondered  what  those  conditions 
were,  of  how  many  of  its  joys  they  robbed  that 
twenty-five  thousand  a  year;  and  very  soon  after 
breakfast  I  motored  round  to  the  offices  of  Messrs. 
Brayley  and  Wills,  my  uncle's  lawyers,  to  hear 
the  worst. 

Old  Brayley,  the  head  of  the  firm,  received  me; 
and  I  told  him  why  I  had  come. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  was  expecting  you,  Lord  Gar- 
thoyle," he  said,  "I  have  the  papers  here,  you 
know  that  Garthoyle  Gardens  were,  if  I  may  say 
so,  the  apple  of  Mr.  Algernon  Garthoyle's  eye. 
Originally  they  were  an  investment.  He  sank 
four  hundred  thousand  pounds  in  them.  Then  he 
grew  interested  in  them;  and  they  became  his 
hobby." 

"Well,  I  should  have  called  them  his  passion — 
they  were  more  than  a  hobby,"  said  I.  "He  was 
even  keener  on  them  than  he  was  on  his  spooks — • 
psychical  research." 

"Yes,  I  should  say  that  that  was  so,"  said 
Brayley. 


I  BECOME  A  HOUSE-AGENT  3 

"It  was.  Why,  when  Number  15  remained 
empty  for  eight  months  it  so  worried  him  that  he 
began  to  lose  weight.  I'm  told  he  broke  up  a  most 
important  seance  when  word  was  brought  him  that 
Number  9  was  on  fire,"  I  said. 

"I  see  you  know  all  about  it,  Lord  Garthoyle. 
Well,,  your  uncle's  idea  seems  to  have  been  to  be- 
queath to  you  not  only  the  Gardens  but  also  his 
keen  interest  in  them.  The  conditions  attached  to 
the  bequest  are  that  you  should  manage  the  Gar- 
dens yourself." 

"Manage  them?"  I  cried. 

"Yes;  that  you  should  be  your  own  house-agent, 
deal  with  all  matters  connected  with  the  letting  of 
the  houses,  their  upkeep  and  repairs,"  said  Brayley. 

"But  I've  no  experience  whatever,  not  only  of 
the  work  of  a  house-agent,  but  of  any  kind  of 
business." 

"Oh,  you'll  soon  gain  it  ^The  property  is  in  ex- 
cellent order  at  present.  Every  house  is  let  to  a 
good  tenant.  And  if  you  do  make  a  few  mistakes 
at  the  beginning,  the  property  can  stand  it." 

"But  it  must  mean  work — a  lot  of  work,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  yes.  There  are  a  thousand  details  con- 
nected with  a  large  property  like  that;  and  they 


3.  ALICE  DEVINE 

would  need  perpetual  attention.  But  of  course 
you  would  have  assistance — a  clerk — two  jclerks." 

I  considered  a  while;  the  matter  was  beginning 
to  look  more  serious  than  I  had  feared.  I  had 
never  done  any  work;  and  it  might  be  dangerous 
to  begin  so  late  in  life — at  twenty-eight.  Besides, 
I  did  not  see  how  I  was  going  to  find  time  to  do 
any  work;  my  life  was  already  arranged  and  full 
up. 

Then  I  said:  "I  suppose  if  I  don't  fulfil  these 
conditions,  I  lose  the  Gardens." 

"No,"  said  Brayley.  "That  is  the  curious  thing 
about  it.  I  suggested  such  a  clause,  of  course; 
but  your  uncle  would  not  have  it  inserted.  It  rests 
entirely  with  yourself  to  fulfil  the  conditions.  But 
here  are  the  conditions  in  detail."  And  he  handed 
me  some  sheets  of  typewritten  paper. 

I  said  good  morning  to  him  and  motored  back 
to  my  flat  in  Mount  Street.  There  I  read  over  the 
conditions;  and  as  I  expected,  I  found  that  it  did 
mean  a  lot  of  work.  Well,  there  was  no  help  for 
it.  I  must  buckle  to.  The  first  thing  to  do  was  to 
get  help.  As  I  motored  down  to  the  Temple  and 
climbed  the  stairs  to  Jack  Thurman's  rooms  in 
the  King's  Bench  Walk,  Garthoyle  Gardens — all 


I  BECOME  A  HOUSE-AGENT  5 

the  twenty-one  houses — weighed  heavily  on  my 
mind. 

Jack  himself  opened  his  door  to  me;  I  greeted 
him  gloomily;  and  we  went  into  his  sitting-room, 

"Jack,"  I  said  sadly,  "within  the  last  two  hours 
I've  become  one  of  the  workers  of  the  world." 

"Never!"  cried  Jack.  "Well,  I  am  glad  to 
hear  it!  I've  always  been  worrying  you  to  stop 
leading  your  idle,  rackety  life  and  use  those  brains 
of  yours." 

"And  you  call  yourself  my  friend,"  I  said  re- 
proachfully. 

"Well,  you  have  brains,  you  know;  all  verte- 
brates have  brains.  What's  happened?" 

"I've  become  the  owner  of  Garthoyle  Gardens." 

"Well,  but — but  that  only  means  you've  thirty 
thousand  a  year  to  spend  on  racketing  about  instead 
of  five,"  said  Jack,  with  a  perplexed  air. 

"No,  it  means  that  I  shall  have  no  time  to 
racket  about.  You  didn't  know  my  Uncle  Alger- 
non: Garthoyle  Gardens  were  his  passion.  They 
were  almost  his  monomania.  I  dined  with  him 
once  every  month,  a  family  dinner,  don't  you  know 
• — just  he  and  I.  And  I  give  you  my  word  he 
bored  me  to  death  with  his  talk  about  those  Gar- 


6  ALICE  DEVINE 

dens.  I  didn't  let  him  see  it,  of  course;  for  I 
was  fond  of  the  old  chap.  He  knew  everything 
about  the  Gardens — the  history  of  every  tenant 
in  every  house,  how  he  made  his  money,  if  he 
hadn't  inherited  it,  how  many  sons  and  daughters 
he  had,  how  many  servants — male  and  female — 
he  kept,  how  many  horses,  carriages  and  motor- 
cars." 

"He  must  have  had  a  capacious  brain,"  said 
Jack. 

"Oh,  he  kept  a  record  of  all  these  things  in  a 
big  book,  like  a  ledger.  He  even  entered  in  it  all 
the  births,  deaths  and  marriages  which  took  place 
in  the  Gardens.  At  one  time  when  I  dined  with 
him  I  used  to  ask  him  how  many  babies  had  been 
vaccinated  in  the  Gardens  during  the  month.  But 
I  gave  that  up.  It  set  him  talking  about  the  Gar- 
dens at  once;  and  I  was  the  sooner  bored.  Those 
Gardens  were  the  apple  of  his  eye — yes,  the  apple 
of  his  eye." 

"Then  I  wonder  he  left  them  to  you,"  said  Jack 
frankly. 

"So  did  I.  He  was  always  down  on  me — worse 
than  you — for  my  idle  life.  He  wanted  me  to  take 
my  duties  as  a  hereditary  legislator  more  seriously, 


I  BECOME  A  HOUSE-AGENT  7 

take  lessons  in  elocution,  engage  a  political  expert 
as  my  secretary,  and  deliver  such  speeches  as  he 
composed  for  me  to  the  House  of  Lords.  He  was 
always  grumbling  at  my  idleness,  and  I  thought 
that  he'd  leave  the  Gardens  to  Herbert  P6lkington; 
so  did  Herbert.  I  should  have  thought  myself 
deucedly  lucky  if  he'd  left  me  fifty  thousand 
pounds.  And  now  I've  got  the  Gardens.  But — 
(jrarthoyle  Gardens  are  a  gilded  pill." 

"I  should  like  to  have  the  swallowing  of  it," 
said  Jack;  and  he  smacked  his  lips.  "But  what 
do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  Garthoyle  Gardens  mean  the 
strenuous  life.  They  are  left  to  me  on  the  con- 
ditions that  I  am  my  own  house-agent,  that  I  run 
them  myself.  I've  got  to  interview  proposed  ten- 
ants, examine  their  standing,  their  references  and 
their  leases;  I've  got  to  see  to  all  matters  con- 
nected with  the  upkeep  of  the  Gardens,  estimates, 
and  contracts  for  repairs.  I've  got  to  run  those 
Gardens  ever  so  much  more  than  my  uncle  did 
himself." 

"Good!     Excellent!"  cried  Jack. 

"And  I  thought  you  were  my  friend,"  I  said 
again  reproachfully. 


8 

"Do  you  all  the  good  in  the  world,"  said  Jack. 
"And  if  you  fail  to  fulfil  the  conditions,  you  lose 
the  property?" 

"No,  that's  where  my  uncle  had  me.  [There's 
no  such  provision.  If  I  accept  the  bequest,  it's 
left  entirely  to  my  honor  to  fulfil  the  conditions. 
Of  course,  I  accept  it.  No  one  refuses  twenty- 
five  thousand  a  year." 

"Hardly,"  said  Jack. 

"Besides,  I  want  money.  It's  been  the  deuce  of 
a  job  to  keep  up  the  title  on  five  thousand  a  year; 
and  I  hate  having  to  let  Garth  Royal  to  that  Ham- 
burg money-lender." 

"Yes;  that  certainly  is  a  nuisance,"  said 
Jack. 

"But  taking  the  Gardens  on  these  terms  means 
chaining  a  log — a  gold  log — round  my  neck  for  the 
rest  of  my  life.  I  can't  go  off  to  the  States  for 
six  months,  as  I  did  last  year.  I  can't  go  shooting 
in  Uganda  again — not  for  long  enough  to  be  worth 
while.  [You  see,  my  uncle  has  shown  such  utter 
confidence  in  me  that  I  can't  go  back  on  him.  Hard 
labor  is  what  it  means  for  me." 

"You'll  soon  get  used  to  work,"  said  Jack. 


I  BECOME  A  HOUSE-AGENT  9 

I  shook  my  head.  "I'm  very  doubtful  about 
that,"  I  said.  "Mine  is  an  untrammeled  spirit. 
And  there  is  also  a  terrible  danger  attached  to  the 
bequest.  My  uncle's  last  words  in  the  document 
containing  these  conditions  were  that  he  was  sure 
I  should  grow  as  fond  of  the  Gardens  as  he  was 
himself.  That  would  be  awful.  It's  a  terrible 
danger.  I  might  grow  to  talk  of  nothing  else,  choke 
off  my  friends  one  by  one  by  boring  them  about  the 
Gardens,  and  bring  myself  to  an  old  age  of  lonely 
desolatidn.  Think  of  it!" 

"I  can't,"  said  Jack. 

"Well,  you  see  how  things  are :  I'm  one  of  the 
workers  of  the  world — in  for  the  strenuous  life  of 
the  house-agent.  Now,  what  I  want  is  a  right- 
hand  man.  I  want  you.  I'll  give  you  a  thousand 
a  year,  and  you'll  give  me  all  the  time  you  can  spare 
from  the  Bar." 

Jack's  eyes  opened  wide;  and  they  shone.  He 
did  brilliant  things  at  Oxford;  but  that  period  had 
come  to  an  end,  and  he  was  now  in  his  briefless 
stage  of  a  barrister's  career  and  hard  up.  Then 
his  face  fell  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"My  good  Garth,  it's  very  nice  of  you  to  make 


JO  ALICE  DEVINE 

this  offer,  but  it's  absurd.  You  can  get  a  clerk 
for  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year  who  will  give  you 
all  his  time  and  do  everything  for  you." 

"You're  wrong,"  I  said.  "A  clerk  can't  do 
what  I  want.  I  want  some  one  to  teach  me  the 
work — to  explain  everything  to  me  from  the  begin- 
ning, patiently.  And  above  all  I  want  some  one  to 
keep  me  up  to  my  work.  That's  the  important 
thing.  No  clerk  would  do  that.  He'd  always  be 
saving  me  the  trouble.  You're  the  only  man  who 
can  really  help  me  to  carry  out  my  uncle's  wishes; 
and  I  must  have  you.  It's  settled.  There's 
nothing  more  to  be  said  about  it." 

Jack  seemed  to  think  that  there  was  more  to  be 
said  about  it;  and  he  said  it  for  nearly  an  hour.  But 
since  I  was  doomed  to  the  strenuous  life,  I  thought 
I  might  as  well  begin;  and  I  was  strenuous  with 
him.  In  fact,  I  wore  him  down  to  a  compromise. 
He  agreed  to  become  my  right-hand  man  on  a  sal- 
ary of  five  hundred  a  year;  and  I  was  very  glad  to 
get  him. 

The  next  day  I  fully  realized  that  I  had  burned 
my  boats — for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  had  an 
occupation.  I  settled  down  to  prepare  for  it 
gloomily.  I  moved  from  Mount  Street  to  my  uncle's 


I  BECOME  A  HOUSE-AGENT          n 

house  in  Garthoyle  Gardens,  Number  18.  As  I 
have  said,  the  Gardens  are  a  triangle  of  twenty- 
one  houses,  seven  houses  on  either  side,  and  seven 
at  the  base.  They  look  on  a  triangular  garden 
in  the  middle,  of  which  all  the  occupants  of  the 
houses  have  the  use.  Number  1 8  is  in  the  center  of 
the  base  of  the  triangle;  and  it  affords  a  good  view; 
of  the  whole  of  it.  My  uncle  had  made  the  library 
on  the  first  floor  his  watch-tower;  and  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  he  carried  his  vigilance  to  the 
point  of  having  two  pairs  of  extremely  powerful 
field-glasses  on  a  little  table  beside  the  window  at 
which  he  used  to  sit.  I  say  that  I  am  sorry,  be- 
cause when  I  picked  up  the  largest  pair  and  turned 
them  on  Number  3,  I  not  only  got  a  perfect  view 
of  the  Luddingtons  at  lunch,  but  also  I  got  a  per- 
fect view  of  their  being  acrimonious  with  one  an- 
other. It  is  hardly  fair  that  one  should  know  so 
much  about  one's  tenants. 

It  was  quite  plain  to  me  that  to  be  a  real  house- 
agent  I  must  have  an  office;  and  it  was  also  quite 
plain  that  it  must  be  in  the  house,  so  that  I  could 
always  step  into  it  without  having  to  make  a  tire- 
some journey.  I  decided  that  I  would  not  use  the 
library,  as  my  uncle  had  done,  but  that  I  would  fit 


12  ALICE  DEVINE 

up  a  pleasant  room  on  the  ground-floor,  looking  out 
on  the  garden  at  the  back  of  the  house,  as  a 
complete  office  with  desks,  pigeonholes  and  a  safe. 
I  did  not  bother  Jack  about  this ;  I  was  paying  him 
for  legal  help.  I  motored  up  into  Oxford  Street 
and  along  it  till  I  found  a  likely  looking  shop,  and 
there  I  ordered  everything  that  seemed  right.  When 
the  room  had  been  fitted  up,  I  had  all  the  books 
and  documents  connected  with  the  Gardens  moved 
into  it  from  the  offices  of  Messrs.  Siddle  and  Wod- 
gett,  who  had  acted  as  my  uncle's  house-agents. 

When  they  had  all  been  brought  in  and  put  tidily 
away,  and  at  last  I  stood  in  my  own  complete  office, 
I  had  a  proud  sense  of  being  truly  one  of  the 
workers  of  the  world.  Then  it  occurred  to  me  that 
I  needed  some  one  to  work  the  typewriter;  I  could 
not  do  it  myself — not  properly.  I  tried. 

Jack  told  me  the  best  way  to  get  some  one  was 
to  advertise;  and  I  advertised  for  a  lady-typist, 
stenographer  and  bookkeeper,  as  he  suggested. 
But  he  was  not  at  hand  when  I  wrote  out  that 
advertisement,  and  we  had  not  discussed  the  ques- 
tion of  salary.  Therefore  I  offered  three  guineas 
a  week,  which  seemed  to  me  fair  to  begin  with.  I 


I  BECOME  A  HOUSE-AGENT          13 

got  my  first  experience  of  what  a  hard  life  a  house- 
agent's  is. 

I  invited  applicants  for  the  post  to  call  at  ten.  At 
nine,  when  I  got  up,  I  heard  a  good  deal  of  noise  out 
in  the  Gardens,  and  I  observed  that  Mowart,  my 
man,  was  pale  and  scared.  Mowart  is  not  allowed 
to  speak  to  me  before  breakfast. 

But  I  saw  that  he  was  dying  to  speak,  and  I  said : 
"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Mowart?  Has  there 
been  an  earthquake  in  the  night  ?" 

"No,  your  Lordship.  But  there's  some  young  per- 
sons waiting  see  your  Lordship,"  said  Mowart. 

"That's  all  right.    I  advertised  for  them,"  I  said. 

"There's  a  good  many  young  persons,  your  Lord- 
ship," said  Mowart  in  a  shaky  voice. 

I  went  to  the  window  and  my  eyes  and  mouth 
opened  wide  as  I  gazed  down  on  a  surging,  seething 
sea  of  wide-spreading  hats.  Among  them  rose 
scores  of  policemen's  helmets,  and  a  column  of 
police  was  marching  into  the  triangle  through  its 
apex.  For  a  moment  I  thought  I  had  assembled 
round  my  door  half  England's  womanhood,  and  all 
the  Metropolitan  police. 

"Ain't  it  awful,  your  Lordship?"  said  Mowart 


14  ALICE  DEVINE 

over  my  shoulder.  And  I  could  scarcely  hear  him 
for  the  volume  of  shrill  sound  which  rose  from 
that  female  sea. 

His  voice  recalled  me  to  myself.  I  remembered 
that  in  great  emergencies  England  looks  to  her 
peers,  and  with  an  effort  I  got  my  mouth  shut. 

"I  shall  have  a  wide  choice,"  I  said  calmly;  and 
I  went  to  my  bath.  I  did  not  trust  my  chin  to 
Mowart's  hands  that  morning;  they  were  too  shaky. 

When  I  came  down-stairs,  I  found  an  inspector 
of  police,  three  policemen  and  four  newspaper 
reporters,  all  wild-eyed,  in  the  hall.  They  seemed  to 
be  in  about  the  state  of  men  leading  a  forlorn  hope. 
They  could  not  keep  still;  they  shuffled  about  and 
danced. 

The  inspector  wrung  his  hands  and  said:  "Oh, 
my  Lord,  this  is  worse  than  suffragettes;  and  it's 
nothing  to  what  it'll  be  when  the  trains  come  in 
from  the  Midlands  and  the  North.  Three  guineas 
a  week!  What  is  your  Lordship  going  to  do?" 

"I  suppose  I  must  interview  them — after  break- 
fast," I  said  calmly. 

"All  them  thousands?"  asked  the  inspector. 

"If  I  have  to  do  it  to  get  what  I  want,"  I  said 
calmly.  And  I  went  in  to  breakfast. 


I  BECOME  A  HOUSE-AGENT          15 

At  breakfast,  Richards,  my  uncle's  old  butler,  was 
in  such  an  emotional  condition,  clattering  dishes  and 
dropping  plates,  that  I  had  to  pause  to  assure  him — 
in  a  shout  (the  volume  of  shrill  chattering  was 
deafening) — that  women  did  not  bite — often. 

After  breakfast  I  began  to  interview  the  appli- 
cants. Ten  policemen  admitted  them,  one  at  a  time, 
through  the  front  door.  I  sat  down  at  my  desk  in 
the  office,  and  asked  them  questions  and  wrote  down 
their  answers  and  qualifications  in  a  most  business- 
like way.  At  the  end  of  the  interview  each  one  was 
let  out  by  the  back  door. 

Of  the  first  hundred  applicants,  forty-three  were 
actual  typists;  the  other  fifty-seven,  as  far  as  I  could 
make  out,  had  come  just  for  the  pleasure  of  a  little 
conversation  with  a  peer.  Some  of  them  took  it 
blushing,  others  did  not.  I  was  much  touched  by 
their  devotion  to  the  Upper  House ;  but  they  rather 
wasted  my  time;  and  you  can  not  be  strenuous  and 
have  your  time  wasted  too.  I  grew  rather  short 
and  quite  monotonous  with  that  kind  before  the  end 
of  the  morning.  The  hundred  and  eleventh  girl, 
Miss  Delicia  Wishart,  was  the  girl  I  wanted.  She 
was  fully  qualified;  she  spoke  and  looked  as  if  she 
were  capable,  and  she  was  undoubtedly  attractive, 


16  ALICE  DEVINE 

with  a  soft  pleasant  voice.  I  thought  that  I  should 
work  better  with  an  attractive  assistant — Jack 
Thurman  is  not;  he  has  a  nose  like  the  beak  of  a 
full-sized  eagle.  I  engaged  her. 

Then  I  went  out  into  the  hall.  It  was  very  full 
of  policemen  and  journalists  now,  and  the  inspector 
looked  as  if  he  had  the  whole  of  the  British 
Empire  on  his  mind ;  and  it  was  compressing  it. 

"Inspector,"  I  said  gently,  "I  have  engaged  a 
typist.  You  may  clear  the  triangle." 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  were  rather  hard  of 
hearing. 

"Clear — clear  the  triangle?"  he  said  in  a  faint 
whispering  voice ;  and  he  sat  down  on  the  knee  and 
note-book  of  a  journalist  who  sat,  writing,  on  one 
of  the  hall  chairs. 

"Yes;  I  have  finished  with  these  ladies,"  I  said, 
and  I  went  up  to  the  library  and  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

The  triangle  was  now  full.  The  trains  from  the 
Midlands  had  come  in.  I  took  my  hat  and  a  stick, 
and  went  quietly  out  by  the  back  door.  I  had  done 
my  duty  as  a  house-agent;  the  police  must  do  the 
rest. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT 

L.TER  in  the  day  I  learned  from  an  evening 
paper  that  the  police  had  done  the  rest,  and 
Garthoyle  Gardens  were  again  peaceful.  Also  Rich- 
ards telephoned  to  me  at  the  Palladium  to  say  that 
nine  papers  wanted  my  photograph.  I  told  him 
that  I  had  not  had  my  photograph  taken  since  I  was 
at  Eton,  and  that  if  he  put  them  in  the  way  of  snap- 
shotting me,  I  would  sack  him.  However,  they 
learned  somehow  or  other  that  I  was  at  the  Pal- 
ladium, and  members  who  came  into  the  card-room, 
where  I  settled  down  for  a  quiet  day's  bridge,  kept 
wondering  whom  those  journalist  Johnnies  with 
cameras  were  after,  because  none  of  the  members 
was  in  the  Divorce  Court  at  the  moment.  When 
the  evening  papers  got  into  full  swing  about  my 
advertisement,  they  knew,  and  they  did  not  forget 
to  talk  about  advertising  for  the  rest  of  the  day  and 
all  the  evening.  I  did  not  mind,  of  course,  but  it 
grew  rather  monotonous. 

17 


i8  ALICE  DEVINE 

The  evening  papers  had  a  good  deal  to  say  about 
my  advertisement — men  read  bits  of  it  out  between 
the  rubbers  and  the  hands.  But  the  morning  papers 
had  even  more  to  say.  All  of  them  were  agreed 
that  three  simple  guineas  a  week  had  brought  to- 
gether the  largest  crowd  of  women  known  in  his- 
tory; and  they  drew  moral  lessons  from  it,  different 
ones.  Some  papers  said  that  it  afforded  a  striking 
tribute  to  the  resources  of  our  civilization;  others 
seemed  very  angry  about  it  because  it  threw  a  sinis- 
ter light  on  the  economic  subjection,  whatever  that 
may  be,  of  women.  All  of  them  agreed  that  I  must 
be  rather  a  fool  (they  did  not  say  it  outright,  they 
suggested  it)  to  offer  three  guineas  a  week,  when 
thirty  shillings  would  have  been  enough.  I  do  not 
care  much  for  the  papers  as  a  rule,  but  that  morning 
I  found  them  quite  interesting.  I  seemed  to  have 
become  all  of  a  sudden  one  of  the  most  important 
people  in  England.  Fourteen  papers  sent  inter- 
viewers round  to  ask  my  opinion  of  the  Budget.  I 
did  not  know  what  it  was  or  anything  about  it ;  but 
the  first  interviewer  explained  it  to  me;  and  after 
that  I  got  on  very  well.  It  seemed  to  me  a  matter 
of  one-and-twopence  in  the  pound;  and  I  simply 
said  that  I  did  not  mind,  that  I  had  plenty  to  spare. 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT    19 

It  seemed  that  I  said  the  wrong  thing,  for  next 
morning  my  cousin,  Herbert  Polkington,  came 
round  in  the  middle  of  breakfast,  and  begged  me 
'to  be  more  discreet  in  my  utterances  to  the  Press. 
In  fact  he  hinted  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if 
I  did  not  do  any  uttering  at  all.  In  the  middle  of 
his  visit  a  note  came  from  my  tenant,  Sir  Marma- 
duke  Ponderbury,  begging  me  "in  the  interests  of 
my  order  to  be  less  frank."  I  argued  the  matter 
with  Herbert — I.  never  take  anything  from  Herbert 
without  arguing — pointing  out  that  what  I  had  said 
was  just  common  sense,  that  with  thirty  thousand 
a  year,  one-and-twopence  in  the  pound  was  neither 
here  nor  there.  I  got  Herbert  quite  heated.  He 
went  away  saying  something  nasty  about  taking 
steps  to  have  the  House  of  Lords  educated.  I  did 
not  mind;  I  never  do  anything  Herbert  says;  and 
this  time  I  was  quite  sure  I  was  right.  Some  of  the 
papers  did  not  print  my  views;  but  those  that  did, 
praised  them. 

The  papers  kept  on  making  a  fuss  about  my  adver- 
tisement for  some  days.  I  grew  rather  tired  of  it. 
I  had  other  things  to  attend  to ;  for  three  days  after 
it  I  really  began  work. 

Jack  and  Miss  Wishart  came  to  the  office  at  nine. 


20  ALICE  DEVINE 

I  came  at  ten.  This  had  to  be  because  I  keep  later 
hours  than  they  do.  They  had  spent  the  hour  plan- 
ning an  honest  day's  work  for  me.  There  was 
plenty  of  it;  they  had  not  stinted  me.  It  began 
with  answering  letters,  forty-nine  of  them,  fifteen 
from  tenants.  It  seemed  that  whenever  a  tenant 
had  five  minutes  to  spare,  he,  or  she,  sat  down  and 
dashed  off  an  unpleasant  letter  to  the  house-agent. 
Also  they  were  at  a  loss  to  understand  something. 
Sir  Marmaduke  Ponderbury  was  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand why,  in  a  well-appointed  house,  there  were 
only  three  gas-brackets  in  the  wine-cellars?  Lady 
Pedders  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  why,  in  a  well- 
appointed  house,  there  was  no  gate  to  the  stairs  at 
the  third  landing  to  prevent  her  children  falling 
down  them?  Sir  Hector  Kilsluthery  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand  why  a  well-appointed  house  was  not 
fitted  with  double  windows  from  top  to  bottom, 
back  and  front. 

I  was  soon  grinding  my  teeth;  then  I  perceived 
that,  if  they  were  at  a  loss  to  understand,  I  had  bet- 
ter be  unable  to  see  my  way.  I  replied  that  I  could 
not  see  my  way  to  make  these  structural  alterations 
(a  good  filling  phrase  of  Miss  Wishart's,  that),  but 
I  gave  them  permission  to  make  them  themselves. 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT  « 21 

On  Jack's  suggestion,  I  signed  all  the  letters 
"Garth  and  Thurman."  He  said  it  would  be  safer; 
that,  if  I  did  not,  I  might  have  my  tenants  bothering 
me  about  things  out  of  business  hours,  whenever 
they;  chanced  to  meet  me.  I  was  quite  sure  that 
they  would,  and  I  jumped  at  his  suggestion.  Now, 
when  they  tackled  me,  I  could  always  refer  them  to 
Garth  and  Thurman.  It  turned  out  very  useful. 

The  letters  done,  I  wrestled  with  leases,  assess- 
ments and  repairing  contracts,  trying  to  get  the 
hang  of  things.  Jack  assured  me  that  my  uncle  had 
paid  too  much  for  everything;  that  I  should  need 
fresh  contracts;  and  probably  fresh  contractors; 
and  it  would  mean  studying  dozens  of  price  lists  to 
check  them.  It  was  cheerful  news. 

Then  he  said:  "I've  come  across  one  curious 
thing — Number  9  pays  no  rent." 

"The  deuce  it  doesn't!"  said  I.  "Well,  I  suppose 
it  wouldn't.  My  uncle  always  told  me  that  it  was 
an  unlucky  house.  It  has  been  on  fire;  the  water- 
pipes  burst  every  winter;  the  roof  will  suddenly 
leak  without  just  cause;  and  poor  little  Mrs.  Bulke- 
ley  committed  suicide  there  by  jumping  out  of  a 
second-floor  window.  I'm  not  really  surprised  that 
it  doesn't  pay  rent." 


22  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Yes;  here's  a  letter  from  the  tenant — J.  Quintus 
Scruton,  to  Siddle  and  Wodgett,  saying  that  he  has 
arranged  with  your  uncle  to  have  the  house  rent- 
free,  and  your  uncle  has  endorsed  the  letter." 

"I  must  look  into  this,"  I  said.  And  I  reached 
for  my  uncle's  record,  which  I  had  handy  on  my 
desk,  and  turned  up  Number  9. 

It  had  indeed  a  black  record — eleven  tenants  in 
fifteen  years. 

The  last  entries  ran  : 

"Tenant:  ].  Quintus  Scruton.  Gum  millionaire 
from  New  Zealand.  Age  about  forty-seven.  Wid- 
ower. No  family — Theosophist. 

Servants.  Butler,  chef,  two  footmen,  house- 
keeper, and  eight  other  females. 

"Vehicles.    Nine. 

"Lease.  Seven,  fourteen  or  twenty-one  years,  at 
two  thousand  pounds  a  year. 

"February  20.  Painful  discovery — the  house  is 
haunted." 

That  was  all;  no  dossier  of  the  ghost,  no  reason 
why  the  gum  millionaire  paid  no  rent.  We  dis- 
cussed the  matter  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that 


the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  write  to  him  demanding 
prompt  payment  of  the  last  quarter's  rent.  Then  he 
would  inform  us  of  the  reason.  Miss  Wishart  wrote 
the  letter,  and  when  I  had  signed  it,  I  struck  work 
for  the  day.  I  had  a  strong  feeling  at  the  moment 
that  mine  was  a  delicately-poised  brain,  and  that 
it  needed  to  be  accustomed  to  the  strain  of  work 
quietly  and  by  slow  degrees.  I  told  Jack  and  Miss 
Wishart  this;  Miss  Wishart  smiled;  but  Jack  said 
in  a  grumbling  tone : 

"I  wanted  you  to  put  in  a  little  work  at  some 
price  lists  of  house-fittings.  You  ought  to  go  care- 
fully into  the  matter  of  house-fittings." 

"I  will  to-morrow,"  I  said.  "And  I  see  that  the 
sooner  I  acquire  a  defensive  habit  of  proscrastina- 
tion,  the  safer  I  shall  be." 

With  that  I  left  them. 

The  next  morning,  after  I  had  answered  thirty- 
nine  letters,  I  did  betake  myself  to  the  study  of  the 
prices  of  house-fittings,  and  it  was  a  tedious  job. 
Jack  suggested  that  I  should  get  a  more  profound 
understanding  of  house-fittings  if  I  went  myself 
and  bought  those  I  had  not  been  able  to  refuse  my 
correspondents,  and  so  come  to  know  the  house- 
fitting  in  its  lair.  After  lunch,  having  answered 


24  ALICE  DEVINE 

eleven  more  letters,  four  from  tenants,  which  came 
by  the  two-o'clock  post,  I  went.  After  three  hours 
among  the  house-fittings,  I  came  home  a  broken 
man.  It  seemed  to  me  that  house-fittings  were  the 
study  of  a  lifetime;  and  that  I  ought  to  have  begun 
it  the  moment  I  went  to  Eton. 

Parkhurst  met  me  with  the  information  that  Mr. 
J.  Quintus  Scruton  had  called  to  see  me  on  business, 
and  was  awaiting  me  in  the  library.  I  was  feeling 
very  strongly  that  I  had  been  house-agent  enough 
for  one  day;  but  business  was  business,  and  I  had 
to  see  him.  As  I  went  up  the  stairs  it  occurred  to 
me  that  the  affair  seemed  queer.  That  J.  Quintus 
Scruton  might  be  out  after  the  gullible  peer.  It 
seemed  a  pity  he  should  not  find  one.  I  stuck  my 
eye-glass  in  my  eye,  opened  my  mouth  and  went 
into  the  library,  looking  as  gullible  a  young  peer  as 
any  one  could  wish  to  see.  I  had  found  the  look 
useful  before. 

Mr.  J.  Quintus  Scruton  rose  as  I  entered.  He 
was  a  broad,  thin,  active-looking  man,  torpedo- 
bearded,  with  a  deeply-lined  brown  face,  out  of 
which  stuck  a  big  hooked  nose.  He  looked  as  if 
he  had  spent  most  of  his  life  out-of-doors  in  very 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT    25 

bad  weather.  I  took  rather  a  dislike  to  him  at  the 
very  first  sight.  The  checks  of  the  trousers  he  was 
wearing  with  his  gray  morning  coat  were  quite 
impossible. 

"How  do  you  do?"  I  drawled. 

"How  do  you  do,  Lord  Garthoyle?  I  am  pleased 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  my  new  landlord,"  he 
said  in  a  rough  hoarse  voice.  "I  came  to  see  you 
about  a  letter  I  have  received  from  your  house- 
agents — a  new  firm,  apparently — demanding  the 
payment  of  my  rent  for  the  last  quarter.  I  gather 
that  you  are  not  aware  that  I  arranged  with  your 
uncle  to  occupy  Number  9  rent-free." 

" Ya-as,  I  know  that,  don't  you  know  ?"  I  bleated. 
"But  it's  a  funny  arrangement,  your  living  in  my 
house  rent-free.  I  dare  say  it  suited  my  uncle,  but 
it  doesn't  suit  me.  Why  did  he  let  you  have  it  rent- 
free?" 

He  looked  at  me  very  hard;  he  raised  one  hand, 
and  he  said  in  a  very  solemn  voice :  "Number  9  is 
haunted;  and  your  uncle  thought  it  better  that  I, 
who  don't  mind  ghosts,  should  live  in  it  rent-free 
than  that  it  should  be  empty." 

My  eye-glass  nearly  fell  out  of  my  eye.     I  had 


26  ALICE  DEVINE 

expected  to  find  something  in  the  way  of  black- 
mailing at  the  bottom  of  the  matter — but  spooks! 
This  gum  millionaire  had  pulled  my  uncle's  leg. 

"Well,  of  all  the  reasons  for  making  any  one  a 
present  of  a  house!"  I  cried,  forgetting  to  drawl. 

"I  knew  it  would  surprise  you,  Lord  Garthoyle; 
but  haunted  it  is.  And  that's  a  very  good  reason — 
a  very  good  business  reason  indeed,  for  not  charging 
any  rent  for  it,"  he  said  earnestly,  wagging  a  finger 
at  me.  "It  would  never  do  for  the  newspapers  to 
have  columns  about  a  haunted  house  in  Garthoyle 
Gardens.  Your  uncle  felt  that  strongly." 

I  wanted  to  hear  some  more,  and  I  said :  "Yes ; 
haunted  houses  in  London  are  a  bit  off  color." 

"Just  so.  It  would  reduce  the  property  to  the 
level  of  Bloomsbury.  I'm  glad  you  see  it,"  he  said 
eagerly. 

"I  see  that.  But  I  don't  see  why  I  should  let  you 
have  the  house  for  nothing,  and  wear  it  out,  don't 
you  know?  If  I  shut  it  up  for  a  year  or  two  the 
ghost  might  get  tired  of  an  empty  house,  and  go." 

"No;  ghosts  don't  care  whether  there's  any  one 
in  a  house  or  not.  They  haunt  it  just  the  same," 
he  said  more  solemnly  than  ever.  "As  an  earnest 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT    27 

theosophist,  I  have  studied  these  psychic  phenom- 
ena; and  you  may  take  it  from  me  that  it  is  so." 

"All  the  same,  I  may  as  well  give  this  one  a  chance 
to  get  tired  and  go,  don't  you  know?" 

"But  an  empty  house  in  Garthoyle  Gardens — a 
house  empty  for  months,  perhaps  years.  It  injures 
the  rest  of  the  property.  It  empties  other  houses. 
Your  uncle  saw  that  very  clearly.  Why,  he  asked 
me — I  may  say,  he  begged  me — to  remain  on  in 
Number  9  rent-free.  He  preferred  a  tenant  who 
paid  no  rent  to  no  tenant  at  all." 

"I  don't,  don't  you  know?  And  I  can  get  over 
that  emptiness  all  right,"  I  said.  "I'll  keep  the 
blinds  and  curtains  and  leave  it  looking  inhabited. 
Either  you'll  have  to  pay  rent,  or  you'll  have  to  go." 

He  lost  his  look  of  persuading  me  for  my  own 
good  and  frowned:  "Well,  in  that  case,"  he  said, 
"I  need  not  keep  my  mouth  shut  about  it  any  longer. 
I  undertook  to  keep  it  quiet,  of  course,  and  put  up 
with  the  discomfort.  But  if  I  have  to  pay  rent,  I 
do  not  see  why  I  should  not  have  a  thorough  inves- 
tigation of  the  most  interesting  phenomenon  I  have 
ever  come  across — an  investigation  by  a  committee 
of  experts  under  the  supervision  of  the  Daily  Mail" 


28  ALICE  DEVINE 

It  was  so  near  a  blackmailing  threat  that  my  first 
thought  was  to  kick  him  down-stairs.  My  second 
thought  was  that,  judging  from  his  build  and  look, 
it  would  be  an  hour's  steady  work;  and  I  had  al- 
ready done  my  work  for  the  day.  My  third  thought 
was  that  boots  were  not  business.  He  was  certainly 
playing  with  his  cards  upon  the  table.  He  had 
shown  me  how  he  had  worked  upon  my  uncle's 
belief  in  spooks  and  his  fondness  for  the  Gardens. 
A  newspaper  ghost-story  would  harm  the  property ; 
and  what  was  worse  I  should  have  to  answer  scores 
and  scores  of  letters  from  my  leisured  tenants  about 
it.  I  thought  of  those  letters,  and  I  quailed. 

But  then  the  rent  was  two  thousand  pounds  a 
year;  and  any  one  who  has  had  to  live  on  five 
thousand  pounds  a  year  for  seven  years  knows  what 
two  thousand  pounds  a  year  is.  I  was  not  going 
to  give  it  up  without  an  effort. 

I  had  been  sitting,  looking  at  Scruton,  with  my 
mouth  open,  while  I  thought  it  out.  Now  I  tried 
another  tack,  and  said:  "Well,  I'm  not  going  to 
pay  for  this  absurd  fancy.  A  ghost  in  the  twentieth 
century !  It's  nonsense,  don't  you  know  ?" 

"Fancy?     Nonsense?     Why,  out  of  my  twelve 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT   29 

servants  only  two  will  sleep  in  the  house.  Some 
sleep  in  the  rooms  over  the  stables;  some  in  lodgings 
in  Green  Street.  Your  uncle  did  not  find  it  non- 
sense, Lord  Garthoyle.  He  slept  in  the  haunted 
room  and  saw  the  ghost." 

"Yes,  my  uncle  would ;  he  had  leanings  that  way, 
don't  you  know  ?  But,  of  course,  there's  no  chance 
of  my  seeing  it.  It  wouldn't  come  if  I  were  there, 
don't  you  know?"  I  drawled. 

"But  you  shall  see  it.  It  will  come,  any  night 
you  like.  It's  always  there  at  night!"  he  cried  in  a 
quite  excited  way. 

I  pretended  to  hesitate;  then  I  said:  "Well, 
I  don't  believe  I  shall  see  any  ghost — but  if  I  do, 
and  it  is  a  ghost,  I'll  let  you  have  the  house  rent- 
free  for  another  year.  If  I  don't  you  pay  your 
rent." 

He  hesitated  a  moment;  then  he  said:  "It's  a 
bargain.  What  night  will  you  come  and  sleep  in 
the  haunted  room?  How  will  Saturday  night  suit 
you?" 

"Saturday  night  at  eleven-thirty.  What  kind  of 
a  ghost  is  it?"  I  said. 

"It's  a  woman,  who  walks,  sighing,  up  and  down 


3o  ALICE  DEVINE 

the  room  from  which  Mrs.  Bulkeley  threw  herself. 
But  she's  sometimes  seen  on  the  stairs.  That's  what 
has  driven  the  servants  out  of  the  house." 

"A  woman  that  sighs  doesn't  sound  very  terrify- 
ing," I  said. 

"She  is,  though.  She  made  me  sweat  with 
fright,"  he  said.  And  he  said  it  so  sincerely  that 
either  he  was  telling  the  truth,  or  he  was  a  first- 
class  actor. 

"Well,  I'll  come  and  see  if  she'll  frighten  me," 
I  said. 

"She  will — you'll  see,"  he  said  solemnly;  and  he 
rose  and  said  good-by  solemnly.  He  had  the  sol- 
emnest  manner  I  have  ever  seen. 

I  walked  down  to  the  front  door  with  him;  and 
I  fancied  that  he  was  looking  pleased  with  himself, 
rather  as  if  he  had  done  a  good  day's  work. 

"Till  Saturday  night,"  he  said  solemnly,  as  he 
went  down  the  steps. 

I  went  into  the  office  and  told  Jack,  Scruton's  tale. 
He  howled  at  it.  But  when  he  had  grown  quiet 
again,  he  agreed  with  me  that  Scruton  could  make 
trouble.  The  people  who  can  afford  a  house  in 
Garthoyle  Gardens  are  just  the  very  people  who 
believe  in  all  those  psychical  phenomena.  They 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT    31 

support  the  palmists,  the  mediums,  the  crystal-gazers 
and  the  clairvoyants.  They  have  nothing  else  to  do. 
My  tenants  would  fuss  like  fury;  many  of  them 
would  see  ghosts  in  their  own  houses.  It  was  much 
better  to  jog  along  quietly  with  Scruton  for  a  while, 
and  see  what  did  happen,  before  putting  the  pressure 
on  him  and  getting  a  first-class  fuss. 

Jack  could  not  understand  why  a  millionaire 
should  stand  the  inconvenience — why  he  did  not 
clear  out  of  a  house  in  which  the  servants  would  not 
sleep.  I  had  to  explain  to  him  that  millionaires  love 
to  get  things  cheap;  that's  how  they  become  million- 
aires; and  a  house  in  Garthoyle  Gardens  for  noth- 
ing would  tempt  any  one.  Of  course,  we  discussed 
the  question  whether  Scruton  was  a  millionaire  at 
all.  I  thought  that  he  was.  An  ordinary  swindler 
would  be  more  of  a  gentleman;  he  would  never  wear 
those  trousers  with  a  gray  morning-coat.  Jack, 
too,  thought  that  a  swindler  would  have  found  a 
better  reason  for  paying  no  rent — that  a  ghost  in 
the  twentieth  century  was  too  thin.  But  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  tale  and  the  ghost  had  worked  very 
well  with  my  uncle. 

"And  after  all,"  I  said,  "one  night  when  I  was  a 
child  I  saw  the  White  Lady  come  down  the  stairs 


32  ALICE  DEVINE 

at  Garth  Royal,  or  I  fancied  I  did;  and  it  came  to 
exactly  the  same  thing." 

I  did  not  get  much  time  to  think  about  the  ghost 
during  the  next  few  days;  letters,  price  lists  and 
house-fittings  kept  me  too  busy.  On  the  Wednesday 
I  played  polo  at  Hurlingham.  'A  piercing  June 
breeze  was'  blowing  from  the  east,  and  there  were 
squalls  of  driving  drizzle,  colder  than  sleet.  I 
caught  a  bad  cold;  and  on  Saturday  night  I  went 
to  Number  9  as  hoarse  as  a  crow.  I  did  not  know 
my  own  voice. 

A  disagreeable  butler,  looking  like  a  mute,  took 
me  to  Scruton.  Scruton  received  me  as  if  I  had 
come  to  a  funeral ;  and  I  returned  his  greeting  with 
hearty  sneezes. 

"I  suppose  you've  quite  made  up  your  mind  to 
go  through  with  it?"  said  Scruton  in  a  gloomy 
voice. 

"Rather!"  I  said.  "Ah-tish-u!  Ah-tish-u! 
Ah-tish-u!" 

"Come  along,  then,"  he  said;  and  he  led  the  way 
up-stairs. 

He  took  me  up  to  a  front  room  on  the  second 
floor,  a  large  room,  rather  barely  furnished,  with 
two  windows.  We  had  each  a  candle,  and  he  said 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT    33 

that  the  electric  light  had  not  been  installed  on  this 
floor,  and  he  never  used  gas.  He  paused  and  looked 
at  me  seriously;  then  he  said : 

"It  doesn't  really  matter.  You  won't  want  much 
light  to  see  her.  I  didn't." 

He  paused  again,  then  with  a  sudden  start  he 
looked  over  his  shoulder. 

I  started,  too,  and  looked  over  his  shoulder.  I 
saw  nothing.  Scruton  gave  a  little  shiver,  and  said 
quickly:  "I  think  I'll  be  going.  I  don't  like  this 
room.  Good  night." 

He  slipped  quickly  out  of  the  door;  and  I  heard 
him  hurry  along  the  corridor  and  down  the  stairs. 
I  felt  rather  uncomfortable.  The  candle  did  not 
light  much  of  the  room,  but  I  set  myself  to  examine 
it.  The  walls  were  not  papered,  but  painted.  There 
was  no  paneling;  and  there  was  not  a  crack  in  the 
surface  of  the  paint.  There  was  no  trap-door  in 
the  ceiling.  There  was  a  thick  Turkey  carpet  on 
the  floor,  and  I  turned  it  up  for  five  feet  round  the 
edges  and  made  sure  that  there  were  no  cracks, 
traps,  or  loose  boards  in  the  floor.  I  looked  out  of 
the  windows  for  anything  in  the  way  of  a  ladder 
from  the  story  below,  and  left  up  the  blinds  to  let 
in  the  moonlight.  I  locked  the  door  leading  to  the 


34  ALICE  DEVINE 

corridor,  and  shot  the  bolt  that  was  just  above  the 
lock.  There  was  another  door  in  the  corner,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  opposite  the  bed.  It  opened 
into  an  unfurnished  dressing-room.  The  door  from 
the  corridor  into  the  dressing-room  was  open;  and 
there  was  no  key  in  it  to  lock  it.  The  other  rooms 
on  the  floor  were  unoccupied.  Some  of  their  doors 
were  open,  some  shut,  none  was  locked.  I  locked  the 
door  between  the  dressing-room  and  my  bedroom, 
and  shot  the  bolt  over  the  keyhole. 

Well,  I  was  in  quite  an  ordinary  room;  and  no 
human  being  could  get  into  it  without  forcing  the 
door.  There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  I  should 
get  a  genuine  ghost — a  real  psychic  phenomenon — 
or  I  should  get  nothing  at  all.  Of  course,  I  should 
get  nothing  at  all. 

But  I  was  going  to  do  the  thing  properly;  and  I 
pulled  off  my  coat  and  waistcoat  and  collar;  took  a 
warm  dressing-gown  from  my  bag,  and  put  it  on. 
I  lay  down  on  the  bed,  pulled  a  blanket  over  me, 
and  waited.  Everything  was  very  quiet,  except 
when  I  sneezed.  I  began  to  think  about  poor  Mrs. 
Bulkeley,  and  her  throwing  herself  out  of  the  win- 
dow. I  wondered  which  of  the  two  windows  it 
was.  It  was  an  uncomfortable  thing  to  think  of; 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT    35 

and  I  tried  to  think  of  something  else.  Then  I  began 
to  hear  noises :  boards  creaked  and  made  me  start ; 
there  were  footsteps  in  the  corridor — two — and  then 
silence.  I  heard  a  sob,  far  away,  and  then  another 
and  another,  and  was  some  time  making  out  that 
it  was  a  cistern  gurgling.  I  had  firmly  made  up 
my  mind  that  it  was  a  jolly  uncomfortable  room  to 
be  in  when  I  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  the:  room  was  much  dimmer,  as 
if  the  moon  were  setting  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house.  I  did  not  want  to  look  around,  and  was 
turning  over  to  go  to  sleep  again,  when  I  heard  a 
sigh,  distinctly. 

I  jerked  myself  on  to  my  elbow;  and  my  eyes 
fell  on  a  figure  crossing  the  room  to  the  farther 
window.  As  it  came  near  the  window  I  saw  that  it 
was  a  woman.  I  could  not  see  her  face,  for  her 
long  hair  fell  about  it.  At  the  window  she  turned 
and  sighed.  A  cold  chill  ran  down  my  back,  and 
my  mouth  went  dry.  She  crossed  the  room  nearly 
to  the  wall,  and  turned  and  sighed,  came  to  the 
window,  turned  and  sighed  again.  The  cold  chills 
raced  down  my  back,  my  heart  hammered  at  my 
ribs,  my  scalp  prickled  with  the  rising  hair,  and  a 
cold  sweat  broke  out  on  me.  /  was  seeing  what 


36  ALICE  DEVINE 

Mrs.  Bulkeley  had  done  before  she  threw  herself 
out  of  the  window. 

Paralyzed,  I  watched  her  cross  and  recross  the 
room  a  dozen  times,  noiseless  but  for  sighs.  A 
rustle,  ever  so  faint  a  rustle,  would  have  made  her 
less  uncanny  somehow. 

Presently  my  heart  was  not  hammering  so  hard 
against  my  ribs.  I  began  to  pull  myself  together; 
and  at  last  with  a  great  effort,  I  said  in  a  croaking 
whisper :  "What  is  it  ?  What  do  you  want  ?" 

The  dead  woman  never  turned  her  head;  she 
crossed  and  recrossed  the  room  and  sighed. 

Suddenly  I  let  off  a  terrific  sneeze. 

At  the  sudden  burst  of  sound,  the  figure  started — 
just  the  slightest  start. 

Slight  as  it  was,  it  was  enough  for  me.  The 
blood  rushed  through  my  veins  again,  and  rage 
drove  it.  I  gathered  myself  together  noiselessly, 
flung  off  the  blanket,  and  sprang  clean  over  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  and  across  the  room.  With  a  shriek 
the  ghost  threw  up  her  arms  to  ward  me  off;  and 
I  clasped  an  armful  of  flesh  and  blood  in  a  soft, 
soundless  woolen  robe. 

"You  little  wretch !"  I  cried,  shaking  her  till  her 
teeth  chattered,  for  I  was  furious. 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT    37 

"Don't!  Don't!  You're  hurting  me!  Let  me 
go!"  she  cried,  struggling. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!  You  want  a  good  whipping!" 
I  cried.  "Hanged — hanged  if  I  don't  kiss  you!" 
And  I  did. 

"You  brute!"  she  cried,  and  slapped  my;  face  with 
a  most  unwraith-like  vigor. 

The  slap  sent  me  sneezing  and  sneezing,  and  she 
took  advantage  of  it  to  twist  out  of  my  grip.  When 
I  had  done  sneezing  my  righteous  anger  had  cooled 
a  little.  I  laughed;  rubbed  my  stinging  cheek,  and 
said:  "And  now,  my  young  friend,  I'm  going  to 
have  a  look  at  you." 

I  walked  to  the  mantelpiece,  struck  a  match, 
lighted  the  candle  and  gazed  round  an  empty  room. 

Not  a  creak  of  door  or  click  of  lock  had  marked 
her  going.  I  gasped  and  rubbed  my  eyes.  Then  I 
examined  the  doors;  both  were  locked  and  bolted. 
I  opened  them,  and  looked  out  into  the  corridor  and 
dressing-room.  They  were  empty,  dark  and  silent. 
I  ran  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  looked  down 
into  silent  blackness. 

I  came  back  into  my  room  and  trod  on  something 
soft.  It  was  a  slipper  of  knitted  wool.  No  wonder 
she  had  been  noiseless.  My  unsophisticated  gum 


38  ALICE  DEVINE 

millionaire  had  provided  against  everything  but  my 
sudden  leap. 

I  locked  and  bolted  the  doors  again,  and  went  to 
bed.  I  thought  for  a  while  about  the  ghost — she 
had  a  really  charming  voice — then  I  went  to  sleep. 
When  I  was  awakened  by  a  knocking  at  my  door, 
the  room  was  bright  with  sunshine.  The  disagree- 
able butler  conducted  me  to  the  bathroom.  I  took 
the  slipper  with  me.  There  might  be  a  hunt  for  it 
while  I  was  in  my  bath. 

When  I  had  dressed  I  made  another  examination 
of  the  walls.  There  was  not  a  crack  in  them.  I 
went  into  the  corridor  and  examined  the  outside  of 
them,  and  came  into  the  dressing-room.  I  was  just 
turning  back,  for  I  had  not  unlocked  it,  when  an 
odd  thing  about  the  lock  caught  my  eye.  It  had  two 
handles,  a  big  one  and  a  little  one.  I  turned  the 
little  handle,  and  the  woodwork  of  the  door  swung 
open,  leaving  the  lock  held  in  its  place  by  its  catch 
and  the  shot  bolt.  I  turned  the  little  handle  back, 
and  two  little  bolts  shot  up  out  of  the  top  of  it.  They 
held  the  lock  in  the  woodwork  of  the  door.  It 
was  a  most  ingenious  device;  and  it  was  any  odds 
that  no  one  would  think  to  look  at  the  lock  when 
the  door  was  opened,  for  it  stood  back  against  the 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  PAID  NO  RENT    39 

wall.  I  should  never  have  noticed  it  myself,  had 
I  not  left  the  door  locked.  No  wonder  my  poor 
uncle  had  been  tricked — what  a  night  he  must  have 
had! 

I  had  got  all  I  wanted,  and  a  trifle  more,  by  look- 
ing like  an  idiot.  I  did  not  trouble  to  put  my  eye- 
glass in  my  eye  and  open  my  mouth.  I  came  down- 
stairs looking  like  a  peer  of  ordinary  intelligence. 

Scruton  came  hurrying  out  of  the  library  into  the 
hall;  and  he  looked  as  if  he  were  ready  to  sympa- 
thize deeply. 

I  said  cheerfully:  "Ah,  Scruton,  good  morning. 
The  young  woman  you  employ  as  ghost  is  quite 
kissable,  but  she  has  rather  large  feet."  And  I 
waved  the  woolen  slipper  at  him. 

"Young  woman!  What  young  woman?  What 
do  you  mean?"  cried  Scruton,  and  his  surprise  was 
very  well  done. 

I  laughed  and  went  on  down  the  hall  toward  the 
door. 

"There  was  only  one  young  woman  in  the  house 
last  night,  the  under-housemaid  .  .  .  Jennings. 
Where  is  Jennings,  Wheatley?"  he  said,  turning 
to  the  butler. 

"I've  not  seen  her  this  morning,  sir.     She  had 


40  ALICE  DEVINE 

gone  out  when  I  got  up,  and  she  hasn't  come  back," 
said  Wheatley;  and  when  I  came  to  look  at  him, 
I  saw  that  he  had  the  same  New  Zealand  kind  of 
look  as  his  master.  They  were  both  in  it. 

"Has  this  wretched  girl  been  playing  this  ghost 
trick  on  us  all?  It's  monstrous!  I'll  prosecute 
her!"  cried  Scruton. 

He  was  a  good  actor. 

"She's  an  awfully  good  locksmith,  too,"  I  said 
gently.  "That  trick  lock  on  the  dressing-room  door 
is  a  marvel.  Send  round  that  rent,  please." 

Scruton  and  his  butler  gaped  at  each  other.  I 
opened  the  door  and  went  down  the  steps. 

Later  in  the  morning  came  a  note  from  Number 
9.  It  contained  a  check  for  the  rent  with  just 
Scruton's  compliments. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  ANARCHISTS 

I  THOUGHT  about  the  ghost-girl  for  several 
days.  She  was  no  more  a  housemaid  than  I 
was;  housemaids  don't  have  voices  like  that,  and  it 
was  her  voice  that  chiefly  stuck  in  my  mind.  I  kept 
an  eye,  or  rather  both  eyes,  through  my  uncle's 
field-glasses,  on  Number  9,  on  the  chance  of  seeing 
her  come  out  of  it.  I  wanted  to  see  whether  her 
face  matched  her  voice. 

All  the  while  I  was  hard  at  work;  and  I  did  not 
find  work  such  a  bore  as  I  had  expected.  For  one 
thing,  it  was  a  change  to  have  things  to  do  that 
had  to  be  done,  and  its  being  a  change  softened  it. 
Besides,  it  was  pleasant  to  find  that  I  could  do 
things.  Mugging  up  price  lists  of  house-fittings 
sounds  an  awful  grind,  but  when  I  found  that  I  did 
get  prices  into  my  head,  it  did  not  bore  me.  I  found 
that  knowledge  of  price  lists  useful  in  interviewing 
contractors. 

41! 


42  ALICE  DEVINE 

/ 

Jack  Thurman  and  I,  but  chiefly  Jack,  of  course, 
were  not  very  long  in  discovering  that,  thanks  to 
the  broad  and  generous  ideas  of  Siddle  and  Wod- 
gett,  his  house-agents,  my  uncle  had  paid  through 
the  nose  for  the  upkeep  and  repairs  of  the  Gardens. 
I  felt  that  I  could  spend  my  money  just  as  well  as 
my  contractors  could  spend  it  for  me.  Therefore 
I  set  about  getting  fresh  estimates,  and  making 
fresh  contracts  for  all  the  work.  Every  contractor 
came  to  his  interview  with  an  iron  resolve  to  pull 
my  leg.  Most  of  them  seemed  to  want  to  lick  my 
boots,  too,  because  I  was  a  peer.  But  it  was  quite 
clear  that  they  were  not  going  to  let  that  fact,  which 
seemed  to  make  the  leg-pulling  process  so  very  easy, 
interfere  with  it.  The  idea  seemed  to  be  to  pull  my 
leg  while  they  were  licking  my  boots. 

I  just  humored  them.  I  stuck  my  eye-glass  in  my; 
eye,  left  my  mouth  open  and  drawled  at  them  like 
a  perfect  ass.  After  a  dozen  drawls  the  prices 
soared  and  soared.  Then  I  dropped  my  eye-glass, 
shut  my  mouth  and  explained  to  them  that  I  was 
not  going  to  pay  fifty  per  cent,  too  much  for  things. 
In  the  jar  of  the  surprise  I  got  better  terms  than  I 
should  have  done  if  I  had  not  started  with  the  eye- 
glass. 


THE  ANARCHISTS  43 

I  was  getting  on  nicely  with  the  new  contracts, 
when  there  came  the  trouble  with  the  kitchen- 
ranges.  Complaints  about  their  kitchen-ranges  had 
come  from  seven  out  of  the  twenty-one  houses  in 
the  Gardens.  An  expert  examined  them  for  me, 
and  reported  that  they  were  nearly  worn  out.  Jack 
and  I  discussed  the  matter,  and  we  decided  that  it 
would  save  a  good  deal  of  money  to  buy  twenty- 
one  kitchen-ranges,  and  have  one  contract  for  the 
fixing  of  the  lot.  It  would  be  far  better  than  buy- 
ing the  seven  needed  at  the  moment  and  then  two 
or  three  at  a  time  as  others  wore  out.  I  mugged 
up  some  price  lists,  and  went  forth  to  examine  the 
kitchen-range  in  its  lair.  They  will  not  send  kitchen- 
ranges  for  your  inspection. 

I  had  had  no  idea  that  there  were  so  many  tricks 
to  a  kitchen-range,  or  that  to  the  inexperienced  they 
are  such  a  tiresome  business.  The  Rockies  are  not 
in  it  with  them ;  I  have  tried  both.  All  the  morning 
I  looked  at  kitchen-ranges,  and  explored  their  tricks 
till  my  head  hummed  with  them.  After  lunch  I 
started  out  to  see  more  at  some  works  at  Fulham. 
I  was  bent  on  finding  the  best  kitchen-range  in 
England  before  I  interviewed  a  contractor  about 
putting  them  in. 


44  ALICE  DEVINE 

At  Hyde  Park  Corner  we  were  held  up  by  the 
traffic  going  into  the  Park.  When  we  started  again, 
Gaston,  my  chauffeur,  asked  me  to  stop.  His  acute 
ear  had  caught  something  wrong  with  the  sound  of 
the  engine.  I  pulled  up  just  in  front  of  Saint 
George's  Hospital ;  he  got  out  and  raised  the  bonnet 
of  the  car. 

My  mind  was  full  of  kitchen-ranges,  and  I  was 
paying  no  particular  attention  to  anything  outside 
me.  Then  I  saw  the  pretty  girl  and  the  children. 
She  was  such  a  pretty  girl  that  she  cleared  the 
kitchen-ranges  out  of  my  mind.  Her  eyes  were  big, 
and  they  shone  like  the  stars  .  .  .  wonderful  eyes 
in  the  prettiest  face  ...  a  face  like  a  flower. 

The  children  were  standing  round  her;  a  slip  of 
a  girl  about  fourteen,  pale-faced  and  thin,  holding 
a  thin  baby;  a  boy  of  eleven;  and  a  thin  little  girl 
of  seven  or  eight  They  were  very  poor  children, 
and,  judging  from  their  patched  clothes,  they  did 
not  belong  to  the  pretty  girl.  She  was  dressed  very 
simply  but  prettily  in  a  light  summer  frock,  and  she 
was  wearing  it  as  if  she  knew  how  to  wear  clothes. 
The  children  were  watching  her  anxiously. 

I  just  glanced  at  them,  but  stared  at  her.  I  could 
not  help  it.  She  did  not  notice  it — she  did  not 


THE  ANARCHISTS  45 

see  me.  She  was  in  trouble  of  some  kind,  and  was 
frowning  anxiously  as  she  grappled  with  one  of 
those  out-of-the-way  pockets  women  love. 

She  stopped  grappling  with  it,  and  her  eyes  shone 
brighter  than  ever  because  there  were  tears  in  them, 
and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  drooped. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  children,  dear,"  she  said.  "But 
I've  lost  my  purse,  and  I  shan't  be  able  to  take  you 
after  all.  It's  no  good  my  going  home  for  more 
money;  it  was  my  last  half-sovereign." 

Her  voice  matched  her  eyes — it  was  charming. 
But  the  odd  thing  was,  I  seemed  to  know  it,  yet  I 
could  not  think  where  I  had  heard  it. 

The  elder  girl  looked  at  her  in  a  way  that  made 
me  feel  uncomfortable,  it  was  so  despairing.  Then 
she  lifted  the  baby  so  that  he  was  against  her  face, 
hiding  it,  and  her  shoulders  shook.  The  little  girl 
burst  into  a  howl,  and  the  boy  stamped  on  the  pave- 
ment on£e,  hard.  The  pretty  girl  blinked  her  eyes, 
and  I  saw  her  teeth  catch  on  her  quivering  lips.  It 
was  like  the  end  of  a  sad  play,  only  it  made  me  ever 
so  much  more  uncomfortable,  and  I  stepped  out  of 
the  car. 

The  boy  pulled  himself  together,  and  said  in  a 
husky  voice  to  the  elder  girl:  "Buck  up,  Cherlie! 


46  ALICE  DEVINE 

Don't  tyke  on.  We'll  go  inter  the  Park,  an'  Miss 
Alice'll  plye  wiv  us." 

"The  Park  ain't  Kew  Gardings!  It  ain't  Kew 
(Gardings !"  wailed  the  little  girl. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  said. 

The  boy  looked  me  up  and  down  distrustfully; 
and  I  fancied  he  liked  my  face  better  than  my 
clothes.  Then  he  said: 

"Miss  Alice's  lost  'er  purse  with  'alf-a-suvrin' 
in  it.  She  was  tyking  hus  to  Kew  Gardings  for  a 
treat — an'  now  she  can't." 

The  elder  girl  took  her  face,  wet  with  tears,  out 
of  the  baby's  frock,  and  said  in  a  heart-broken  voice : 
"It's  Steppie!  Steppie's  never  bin  furder  out  of 
London  than  Kensington  Gardings ;  an'  'e  was  look- 
ing forward  to  it  so."  I  gathered  that  Steppie  was 
the  baby.  "And  Verie  was  lookin'  forward  to  it, 
too.  But  she's  bin  to  Kew  Gardings  once  .  .  . 
when  she  was  older  nor  Steppie.  She  remembers 
them,  though."  And  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 

"I  wants  to  go  agyne — now,"  wailed  Verie. 
"There  was  a  squir'l  in  a  tree." 

The  boy  turned  to  her  and  said  gruffly :  "It  ain't 
no  use  you  tykin'  on,  Verie — it  ain't  really.  The 
morn's  gorn." 


THE  ANARCHISTS  47 

Verie  broke  into  a  louder  howl;  Cherlie  sobbed 
twice;  and  I  feared  that  the  baby  would  join  in. 

I  turned  to  the  pretty  girl,  raised  my  hat  and 
said :  "This  is  a  regular  tragedy,  don't  you  know  ? 
And  it's  got  to  be  stopped.  Suppose  we  take  them 
out  into  the  country  in  my  car?" 

She  drew  back,  frowning  a  little ;  and  I  went  on : 
"I  can't  handle  them  myself,  don't  you  know.  I 
couldn't  give  them  a  good  time." 

She  looked  from  me  to  the  children,  and  from  the 
children  to  me;  she  wrung  her  hands,  and  said 
softly:  "Oh,  dear— oh,  dear!" 

It  was  hard  for  her,  of  course,  to  make  up  her 
mind  what  to  do  .  .  .  Whether  she  ought  to  go 
motoring  with  a  perfect  stranger,  or  let  the  children 
slide  ? 

I  did  not  say  anything;  it  was  the  kind  of  thing 
she  must  settle  for  herself.  She  looked  at  them 
again,  and  the  children  won. 

Her  face  cleared,  she  smiled  at  me,  and  she  said: 
"Oh,  it  would  be  good  of  you!  It  is  such  a  cruel 
disappointment  for  them." 

I  turned  to  the  children,  and  said :  "It's  all  right. 
I'm  going  to  take  you  into  the  country — the  real 
county — in  my  motor-car." 


1 48  ALICE  DEVINE 

Verie  stopped  howling.  Charlie's  eyes  opened 
wide,  and  so  did  her  mouth,  and  I  never  saw  such 
thankfulness  in  any  one's  face  before. 

"Oh,  Steppie,  the  real  country  .  .  .  Steppie  in 
the  real  country  .  .  .  where  the  cows  are!"  she 
said,  in  a  whispering  voice. 

"In  you  get,"  I  said  cheerfully.  And  the  two 
girls  stepped  quickly  toward  the  car. 

"  'Ere,  'old  on !  Wyte  a  bit !"  said  the  boy.  "She 
don't  mind,  Miss  Alice  don't,  but  this  gov'ner  won't 
want  to  tyke  the  likes  of  us."  Then  turning*  to  me, 
he  added  sternly :  "We're  anarchists,  we  are — and 
don't  you  myke  any  mistyke  abart  it !" 

Cherlie  stopped  with  the  thankfulness  dying  out 
of  her  face,  and  she  looked  at  the  boy  as  if  he  had 
to  be  obeyed.  Verie  looked  at  him,  scowled  at  him 
defiantly,  and  climbed  into  the  tonneau. 

"Come  out  of  it,  Verie!"  he  said  sternly. 

"Oh,  Robbie,  don't  you  think  we  might  .  ,  , 
just  fer  once?  Think  of  Steppie  in  the  country," 
said  Cherlie,  in  such  a  pleading  voice  that  it  gave  me 
a  lump  in  my  throat. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!  I  don't  mind!"  I  said 
quickly.  "Anarchists  ...  I  rather  like  'em.  In 


THE  ANARCHISTS  49 

fact,  I'm  a  bit  of  an  anarchist  myself.  I  never  could 
stick  the  House  of  Lords — never — give  you  my 
word.  I  tell  you  what — I'll  be  a  full-blown  anarchist 
myself  all  the  afternoon." 

I  said  it  straight  off  without  a  break,  for  the  chil- 
dren had  got  to  go. 

"Strite?"  said  the  boy. 

"Straight,"  said  I. 

"If  it's  like  that,  thank  yer,  gov'ner,"  said  the  boy 
with  a  grunt  of  thankfulness.  And  he  grinned  all 
over  his  face  as  he  held  Cherlie's  arm  while  she  got 
into  the  car. 

I  held  open  the  door  for  Miss  Alice. 

"It  is  good  of  you,"  she  said,  as  she  stepped  into 
it.  And  she  looked  at  me  in  a  way  I  couldn't  have 
deserved  if  I  had  given  the  children  a  house  in 
Garthoyle  Gardens  and  an  income  to  keep  it  up. 

"Harrod's!"  I  said  to  Gaston,  and  got  in  after 
her. 

The  tonneau  is  big;  but  it  was  only  when  I  saw 
how  much  room  the  children  left  on  the  broad  seat 
that  I  realized  what  thin  little  things  they  were. 
As  we  settled  down  I  took  stock  of  them.  I  saw 
that  there  were  a  great  many  patches  in  their  clothes. 


50  ALICE  DEVINE 

But  their  faces  were  clean,  and  all  the  more  recent 
dirt  had  been  scrubbed  off  their  discolored  little 
claws.  They  were  claWs. 

It  struck  me  that  there  had  been  a  lot  of  careful 
preparation  for  their  jaunt  to  Kew. 

They  were  sitting  rather  stiffly,  looking  very  seri- 
ous, as  if  they  were  a  bit  overcome  by  the  grandeur 
of  their  position.  They  were  still  busy  getting  used 
to  it  when  we  came  to  Harrod's. 

Gaston  stopped  the  car;  I  stepped  out  and  went 
to  the  provision  department,  said  that  I  wanted  a 
picnic  hamper  for  a  dozen  children,  and  that  it  must 
have  lots  of  nourishing  food  in  it,  chickens  and 
tongues.  Also  I  wanted  a  kettle  and  tea-things; 
and  I  wanted  it  now — right  away — my  car  was 
waiting.  They  know  me  in  that  department,  and 
they  bustled.  In  about  five  minutes  I  followed 
the  hamper  out,  saw  it  set  in  front,  beside  Gaston, 
and  got  into  the  car. 

"Chipperfield  Common,"  I  said  to  Gaston. 

Verie's  words  about  a  squirrel  in  a  tree  had  sug- 
gested it  to  me ;  and  he  set  the  car  going. 

The  children  had  been  chattering  in  an  excited 
way  when  I  came  out  of  Harrod's;  but  when  I  got 
into  the  car,  they  turned  stiff  again. 


THE  ANARCHISTS  51 

Then  Robbie  broke  the  ice  by  saying:  "My! 
Ain't  it  fine  ?  A  real  motor-car !" 

Cherlie  bent  down  to  the  baby  in  her  lap,  and  said : 
"In  a  motor-car,  Steppie  .  .  .  ridin'  in  a 
motor-car !" 

"So  you're  anarchists,  are  you?"  I  said,  to  set 
them  going. 

All  their  faces  turned  to  me;  and  Robbie  said 
promptly:  "Yes,  we're  anarchists,  and  so's  father. 
My  name's  Robespierre  Briggs  .  .  .  after  'm 
what  myde  the  French  Revolution.  And  Cherlie's 
name  is  Charlotte  Corday  Briggs ;  and  Verie  is  Vera 
Sassiliwitch  Briggs  .  .  .  after  'er  wot  threw 
bombs  at  the  Czar.  And  Steppie.  .  .  .  He's 
Stepniak  Briggs.  He  threw  bombs,  too." 

"I'm  going  to  throw  bombs  when  I  grow  up," 
said  Verie. 

"And  so  am  I  when  Steppie's  grown  up  enough 
not  to  want  me  lookin'  after  'im  any  more,"  said 
Cherlie  in  a  cheerful  voice. 

"An'  I'm  goin'  to  myke  bombs  for  'em  to  tHrow. 
I've  got  a  book  on  chemistry,  and  father  'elps  me 
to  learn  it  in  the  evenin's,"  said  Robbie. 

"Well,  they  are  a  desperate  band !"  I  said  to  Miss 
Alice. 


52  ALICE  DEVINE 

She  was  looking  at  them  with  pitiful  eyes;  and 
she  said :  "I  think  it's  rather  dreadful." 

"But  if  you  throw  bombs,  you'll  go  to  prison!" 
I  said  to  the  children. 

"Yes,  but  then  we'll  be  martyrs  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, an'  that's  a  glorious  thing  to  be,"  said  Robbie. 

"P'raps  we'll  be  'anged,"  said  Verie  cheerfully. 

"An'  if  you're  'anged,  you're  hever  so  much  more 
a  martyr  of  the  Revolution,"  argued  Robbie. 

"I'm  goin'  ter  throw  bombs  at  ministers,"  said 
Verie.  "I  told  Carrie  Evans  I  was  goin'  ter  throw 
a  bomb  at  'er  minister,  an'  she  pulled  my  'air." 

"There  you  go  agyne,  Verie.  You  do  mix  things 
up  so,"  said  Robbie  in  a  vexed  tone.  "I  keep  telling 
yer  that  it's  Cabinet  Ministers,  and  not  chapel  min- 
isters as  you  throw  bombs  at." 

"Carrie  Evans  said  she'd  got  a  minister,  an'  I 
said  I'd  throw  a  bomb  at  'im,  an'  she  pulled  my  'air; 
an'  I  will  throw  a  bomb  at  'im,"  said  Verie  firmly. 

"She  won't  understand;  an'  I've  told  her  agyne 
and  agyne,"  said  Robbie  in  a  tone  of  aggravation. 

"I'm  goin'  ter  throw  a  bomb  at  Carrie  Evans's 
minister  when  I  grow  up,"  said  Verie  in  a  sing-song. 

Cherlie  had  been  holding  Stepniak  up  and  pointing 
things  out  to  him.  Now  she  cried:  "Look! 


THE  ANARCHISTS  53 

There's  a  cow!  Look,  Steppie!  Look!  There's 
a  cow  in  a  field." 

The  sight  diverted  the  minds  and  talk  of  the  other 
anarchists  from  bombs,  and  little  by  little,  as  it  slid 
deeper  into  the  country,  the  car  became  a  perfect 
babel.  They  were  all  calling  to  one  another  at  once 
to  look  at  this  and  look  at  that ;  and  all  at  the  same 
time  asking  us  questions  about  what  they  saw.  Al- 
ways there  was  something  fresh;  and  the  eyes  of 
the  anarchists  grew  bigger  and  bigger. 

Miss  Alice  was  charming  with  them.  She  an- 
swered their  questions,  her  pretty  eyes  hunted  the 
countryside  for  things  to  point  out  to  them.  Her 
face  was  glowing  with  pleasure  at  their  pleasure.  I 
did  enjoy  looking  at  it,  and  helping  her  find  fresh 
things  for  the  anarchists  to  admire. 

But  all  the  while  her  voice  bothered  me.  I  could 
have  sworn  that  I  had  heard  it  before;  but  for  the 
life  of  me,  I  could  not  remember  when  or  where. 
It  Was  odd,  too,  that  I  did  not  believe  that  I  had 
ever  seen  her  face  before.  I  could  not  have  forgot- 
ten it  if  I  had :  for  I  never  forget  a  pretty  face;  and 
I  can  very  soon  recall  when  and  where  I  have  seen 
it  before.  It  was  certainly  strange  that  I  should 
know  her  voice  and  not  her  face. 


54  'ALICE  OTVIKIE 

Bushey  and  Watford  gave  the  children  a  rest 
from  their  excitement.  Once  in  the  streets  again, 
they  did  not  trouble  even  to  look  about  them.  They 
gave  their  eyes  a  rest;  and  they  sat  back,  telling  one 
another  again  and  again  of  things  they  had  seen. 

In  the  middle  of  it,  Robbie  said:  "What's  yer 
nyme,  gov'ner?  We  can  call  Miss  Alice  by  her'n; 
but  we  don't  know  your'n  to  call  yer  by." 

I  hesitated  a  moment ;  then  I  said :  "My  name's 
Garth." 

Somehow  I  couldn't  say  Lord  Garthoyle.  .  .  . 
It  did  not  seem  to  go  at  all  with  these  children. 
Besides,  all  my  friends  call  me  Garth;  and  it  is  my 
business  name.  After  all  I  had  come  out  to  buy 
kitchen-ranges  for  Garth  and  Thurman. 

When  we  came  out  of  Watford  into  the  country 
again,  the  anarchists  again  grew  excited ;  and  I  grew 
yet  more  friendly  with  Miss  Alice,  helping  her  to 
tell  them  things.  We  reached  Chipperfield  Common, 
all  rather  hot  and  out  of  breath,  though  we  had 
been  sitting  still  for  nearly  an  hour.  But  when 
once  the  anarchists  were  out  of  the  car,  on  the 
Common  itself,  among  the  flowers  and  the  pine- 
trees,  they  just  went  mad.  Robbie  and  Verie  ran 
round  us  in  rings,  screaming;  and  Cherlie  jumped 


THE  ANARCHISTS  55 

up  and  down,  with  her  eyes  starting  out  of  her  head, 
as  she  tried  to  point  put  to  the  staring  Stepniak 
everything  at  once. 

"Look  here,  they're  going  mad!  What  are  we 
going  to  do  with  these  mad  anarchists?"  I  said  to 
Miss  Alice. 

"They  won't  go  mad,  they're  too  nappy,"  she  saidj 
smiling  at  me. 

"Well,  it's  your  show,  not  mine.  You'll  take  the 
responsibility,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  no,  no!  It's  your  show.  They  owe  it  to 
you.  I  could  never  have  given  them  anything  like 
this,"  she  cried. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  It's  your  idea  altogether.  I 
should  never  have  dreamt  of  it.  Therefore  it's  your 
show.  And  it's  awfully  fine  of  you  to  do  this  kind 
of  thing." 

"Fine  ?   Why,  I  love  it !"  she  cried. 

"I  expect  you  do  love  fine  things,"  I  said. 

She  turned  away  from  my  eyes  with  a  little  blush. 
I  fancy  I  was  looking  what  I  thought  of  her. 

"Cherlie,  give  Steppie  to  me.  You  must  want  to 
run  about  with  the  others,"  she  said. 

She  gave  Steppie  a  finger,  and  I  gave  him  another ; 
and  he  toddled  along  between  us  like  a  kind  of  link. 


56  ALICE  DEVINE 

"How  did  you  meet  these  anarchists?"  I  said. 

"I  found  them  in  the  Park  one  afternoon,  and 
then  they  came  several  times  to  see  me,  and  by  de- 
grees I've  got  to  know  them  quite  well.  They  are 
such  nice  children." 

"And  I  suppose  you  have  spent  all  your  pocket 
money  on  them  ever  since  ?" 

"I  haven't  enough  to  do  anything  really  for 
them,"  she  said  with  a  sigh.  "I  can  only  give  them 
a  treat  now  and  then — tea  and  cakes.  The  expedi- 
tion to  Kew  was  quite  out  of  the  common — a  great 
affair.  At  least  it  would  have  been,  if  it  had  come 
off.  But  this  is  much  better — absolutely  splen- 
did. .  .  ." 

"Have  you  many  of  these  proteges,  or  are  these 
all?"  I  said. 

"There  are  two  other  lots  of  small  children  I  have 
found  in  the  Park;  but  they're  not  so  poor  as  the 
Briggses  and  not  nearly  so  interesting." 

"That  anarchist  talk  is  rather  strong,  though." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so  ?  Don't  you  think  it's  very 
natural  ...  for  them?  Why,  even  I  ... 
sometimes  .  .  .  when  I  think  of  the  wretched, 
poisonous  life  these  children  lead  ...  I  feel  I 
qould  be  an  anarchist  myself." 


THE  ANARCHISTS  g; 

"And  throw  bombs?"  I  said. 

"Yes ;  I  feel  that  I  could,"  she  said  quite  seriously. 
"There  are  thousands  and  thousands  of  children 
like  them.  But,  of  course,  you  don't  understand. 
.  .  .  You  haven't  seen  them  faint  with  hunger." 

"Things  do  seem  wrong.  I  wonder  that  the  Gov- 
ernment doesn't  do  something  to  stop  it,"  said  I. 

"Things  are  so  stupid  ...  so  utterly  stupid," 
she  said,  frowning. 

We  were  silent  a  while.  I  was  thinking  that  I 
might  look  into  this  matter  of  the  children  a  little. 
I  was  finding  my  work  as  house-agent  not  half  bad. 
I  might  put  in  a  little  work  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
and  try  to  get  this  matter  of  the  children  looked 
into.  In  the  meantime  I  might  arrange  a  series  of 
anarchist  outings ;  and  she  might  help  me  with  them, 
as  she  was  helping  me  this  afternoon.  And  I  wanted 
her  to  help  me  very  much.  I  did  like  the  way  she 
carried  herself;  and  she  walked  so  lightly. 

We  went  on  among  the  pines  slowly,  to  suit  Step- 
niak's  toddles,  and  the  other  anarchists  kept  rushing 
up  to  show  us  the  wonderful  things  they  had  found, 
or  to  shout  at  us  the  wonderful  things  they  had 
seen.  She  kept  smiling  at  them,  and  encouraging 
them,  and  congratulating  them  on  their  finds. 


58  ALICE  DEVINE 

Then  we  came  to  the  pool  of  the  Twelve  Apostles ; 
and  she  said:  "you.  have  brought  us  to  a  beautiful 
place." 

"I  never  saw  it  look  so  beautiful,"  I  said;  and  I 
never  had.  I  had  never  seen  it  with  her  in  it  before. 

I  think  she  understood,  for  she  flushed  a  little. 

"Fancy  being  able  to  motor  here  any  day  you 
like,  and  to  be  able  to  bring  children — children 
like  these — with  you!  Oh,  if  only  I  could  do 
things  like  that  for  the  children!"  she  said. 

I  nearly  offered  then  and  there  to  put  myself  and 
my  cars  at  her  disposal  as  often  as  she  wanted  us. 
But  I  am  not  impatient ;  and  I  thought  it  wise  to  go 
slow.  If  I  tried  to  hurry  things,  it  was  very  likely 
that  I  should  spoil  it  all. 

Then  Verie  came  rushing  up,  purple  with  joy, 
screaming:  "There's  a  squir'l  in  a  tree!  There's 
a  squir'l  in  a  tree !  Bring  Steppie  to  see  the  squir'l !" 

I  picked  up  Stepniak,  and  we  hurried  off  to  see 
the  squirrel,  Miss  Alice  as  excited  and  delighted  as 
the  anarchists.  We  all  tried  in  an  excited  way  to 
get  Stepniak  to  see  the  squirrel;  I  grew  as  keen  on 
making  him  see  it  as  Cherlie  and  Miss  Alice.  They 
were  sure  he  saw  it ;  I  was  not ;  and  we  argued  about 
it  almost  in  a  heated  way.  Stepniak  seemed  awfully. 


THE  ANARCHISTS  59 

solemn  for  his  age,  and  I  did  not  believe  that  he 
was  really  keen  on  seeing  a  squirrel.  Miss  Alice 
said  I  underrated  his  intelligence. 

The  squirrel  took  us  to  a  tree  where  he  found  two 
other  squirrels,  and  they  played  about  in  it.  The 
anarchists  were  a  long  time  getting  tired  of  watching 
them,  and  I  found  it  was  nearly  four  o'clock. 

"Hadn't  they  better  have  tea  now  ?"  I  said  to  Miss 
Alice.  "Then  they  will  be  ready  for  supper  before 
we  start  back.  They  may  as  well  have  two  meals 
while  they  are  about  it.  They  look  as  though  they 
could  do  with  them." 

"Oh,  you  do  have  good  ideas !  That  will  be  splen- 
did!" she  said;  and  her  eyes  shone  brighter  than 
ever. 

"It's  just  common  sense,"  I  said.  "By  the  way, 
is  Alice  your  Christian  name  or  your  surname?" 

"It's  my  Christian  name ;  my  surname's  Devine," 
she  said,  with  a  shade  of  hesitation. 

"I  suppose  you  spell  it  with  an  T?  You  ought 
to,"  I  said  firmly. 

"No ;  it's  spelt  with  an  V ;  and  that's  how  it  ought 
to  be  spelt,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"With  an  V  "  I  said. 

"With  an  V  "  said  she. 


60  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Well,  I  know  best,  but  we  won't  argue  about  it," 
said  I. 

We  went  back  in  a  body  to.  the  car.  Gaston  had 
got  hot  water  for  the  tea,  and  a  big  jug  of  milk  for 
the  anarchists.  I  thought  that  a  fire  would  be  better 
fun  for  them  than  a  spirit  stove,  and  they  grew  im- 
mensely excited  about  it  There  seemed  to  be  no 
limit  to  their  power  of  getting  excited. 

When  it  had  burned  up  a  little  we  began  to  un- 
pack the  hamper. 

We  laid  the  table-cloth  between  two  pine-trees, 
and  set  the  knives  and  forks  and  teacups  on  it. 
Then  Alice  took  a  cake  out  of  the  hamper.  At  the 
sight  of  it  the  children,  who  had  been  crying  out 
to  one  another  how  pretty  the  cups  were,  and  how 
the  spoons  and  forks  shone,  suddenly  were  quite 
silent.  We  paused  in  our  unpacking  and  looked  at 
them.  They  were  staring  at  the  cake  in  a  painful 
kind  of  way,  with  a  horrible  craving  in  their  eyes. 
They  made  me  think  of  hungry  little  wolves.  Verie's 
mouth  was  working  as  if  she  were  already  eating. 
Then  Stepniak  wailed,  and  held  out  his  hands. 

"Why  .  .  .  Why  .  .  .  They  must  have  been 
hungry  all  the  white  .  .  .  All  the  time  they  have 
been  laughing  and  screaming  and  enjoying  them- 


THE  ANARCHISTS  6i 

selves.  .  .  .  Hungrier  than  ever  I  was  in  my  life 
...  all  the  way  from  town,"  I  said,  more  than  a 
bit  shocked. 

"Yes  .  .  .  they  forgot  it.  How  dreadful  P 
said  Alice  in  a  hushed  voice. 

She  had  turned  rather  pale. 

It  took  me  about  five  seconds  to  cut  up  that  cake 
and  hand  it  round.  To  see  the  look  of  thankfulness 
on  those  children's  faces  as  their  mouths  filled  made 
me  feel  positively  beastly. 

"Steady,  now,  children!    Don't  wolf  it,"  I  said. 

I  might  just  as  well  have  spoken  to  real  wolves. 

Alice  had  already  mixed  a  cup  of  cake  and  milk 
for  Stepniak,  and  was  feeding  him  slowly.  I  got 
out  a  dish  of  chicken  and  tongue,  and  a  pile  of 
bread  and  butter,  and  sat  the  children  down  to  it. 
They  seemed  to  find  cutting  up  the  slices  of  meat  too 
slow  for  their  appetites.  When  they  got  a  leg  or 
wing-bone,  they  just  took  it  in  their  fingers  and 
gnawed  it  happily. 

Alice  kept  saying:    "Gently,  children. 
Gently !    Don't  eat  so  fast,  please." 

They  looked  at  her  in  a  helpless  sort  of  way,  as  if 
they  would  have  liked  to  do  as  she  wanted,  but  could 
not.  I  did  not  get  out  any  more  food,  and  when 


62  ALICE  DEVINE 

they  had  come  to  the  end  of  that,  I  said :  "Nothing 
more  to  eat  for  five  minutes.  Come  along  and  let's 
boil  the  kettle." 

They  came,  and  were  interested  in  the  boiling  of 
the  kettle  and  the  making  of  the  tea;  but  all  the 
while  they  kept  looking  at  the  hamper  as  if  they 
couldn't  keep  their  eyes  off  it.  When  the  five  min- 
utes were  up,  their  eyes  still  glistened  at  the  food, 
but  they  ate  it  slower.  They  did  enjoy  it  But  it 
was  only  toward  the  end  of  the  meal  that  Cherlie 
remembered  their  manners  and  reminded  them 
sternly.  When  Stepniak  was  full  he  went  to  sleep, 
and  when  the  other  anarchists  were  full,  they  lay 
on  their  sides,  looking  drowsy  and  very  happy,  talk- 
ing in  jerks  about  the  chicken  and  cakes. 

They  were  not  quiet  long;  they  were  soon  on 
their  feet  again,  and  running  about,  leaving  us  to 
talk  to  each  other.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that 
after  all  I  had  never  heard  Miss  Devine's  voice 
before,  but  I  did  not  find  it  any  the  less  pretty. 
We  talked  about  the  children.  She  told  me  that 
they  were  motherless;  that  thieir  father  worked 
for  a  sweating  tailor,  and  that  his  earnings  were 
wretched.  We  talked  over  the  whole  state  of  things 
in  the  slums;  but  of  course  we  did  not  know  how 


THE  ANARCHISTS  63 

it  was  to  be  stopped.  Only  it  was  plain  that  that 
was  what  the  Government  was  there  for;  we  were 
both  sure  of  that;  and  I  began  to  think  seriously 
about  going  down  to  the  House  of  Lords  and  look- 
ing into  the  matter.  I  might  put  the  fat  in  the 
fire,  and  get  a  little  quiet  fun  out  of  doing  it 

Then  Robbie  came  running  up,  very  eager,  and 
said:  "Will  you  come  and  plye  anarchists  wiv 
us,  Miss  Alice?.  [There  ain't  no  one  to  throw 
bombs  at!" 

We  rose;  and  I  said,  "This  is  a  new  game.  How 
do  you  play  it?" 

"She  knows.  She's  plyed  it  wiv  us  in  the  Park," 
said  Robbie,  and  he  ran  off. 

"It's  very  simple,"  she  said,  smiling.  "They 
throw  bombs  at  us,  and  we  fall  down  dead." 

"It  sounds  a  cheerful  game,"  said  I. 

We  walked  along  the  pines,  and,  suddenly,  with 
loud  cries  of  "Bang!"  the  hidden  anarchists  threw 
bombs  of  bracken  at  us.  We  fell  down  dead,  and 
the  anarchists  fled,  yelling  joyfully,  to  their  lairs. 
Then  we  rose,  and  they  stalked  us  again,  and  threw 
more  bombs  at  us. 

When  they  threw  the  fifth  lot  of  bombs,  to  make 
it  a  little  more  realistic,  Alice  gave  a  little  scream. 


64  ALICE  DEVINE 

I  fell  down  all  right,  but  I  got  up  very  slowly, 
almost  as  upset  as  if  the  bombs  had  been  real.  I 
knew  now  where  I  had  heard  her  voice;  the  scream 
had  brought  it  back  to  me.  She  was  the  ghost-girl 
— the  girl  whom  Scruton  had  employed  as  ghost  to 
frighten  me  into  letting  him  live  there  rent-free 
at  Number  9.  So  she  had  screamed  when  I  sprang 
across  the  bedroom  and  caught  her. 

I  was  sick.  When  I  got  up,  I  found  that  a  kind 
of  dulness  had  come  over  the  Common,  though  I 
suppose  the  sun  was  shining  as  bright  as  ever. 
This  girl  had  taken  a  hand  in  Scruton's  shady 
game;  she  actually  had  helped  him  trick  my  uncle 
out  of  a  quarter's  rent. 

It  seemed  just  incredible,  but  it  wasn't.  I  could 
swear  to  the  ghost-girl's  voice  among  a  million 
voices;  and  it  was  the  voice  of  Alice  Devine.  I 
looked  at  her,  and  sure  as  I  was,  it  was  hard  to 
believe  it.  She  looked  too  pretty;  far  too  pretty, 
with  her  flushed  face  and  shining  eyes,  to  have  been 
mixed  up  in  a  shady  game  like  that.  She  was  so 
happy  because  the  children  were  happy.  And  tnen 
the  way  she  had  treated  those  children — spending 
her  last  half-sovereign  to  take  them  to  Kew;  trying 
all  she  knew  to  give  them  a  good  time.  It  was  past 


THE  ANARCHISTS  65 

understanding;  it  did  not  go  with  that  ghost  trick 
at  all.  I  must  be  wrong.  But  I  wasn't. 

We  went  on  playing  at  anarchists,  but  I  had  lost 
interest  in  the  game.  Then  the  children  tired  of 
it.  We  sat  down  on  the  bank  of  the  pool,  and  she 
told  them  stories.  For  anarchists  they  seemed  to 
me  uncommonly  fond  of  fairies.  I  did  not  listen 
much  to  the  stories,  though  she  told  them  very 
well.  The  ghost  trick  was  worrying  me.  .  .  .  The 
stories  did  not  fit  in  with  it  ...  and  I  was  glum. 
She  seemed  to  see  that  something  had  gone  wrong 
with  me,  foi"  two  or  three  times  she  looked  at  me 
in  a  questioning  way. 

I  was  glad  when  we  set  about  giving  the  an- 
archists their  supper.  It  took  my  mind  off  the 
ghost  trick.  They  were  very  hungry  again;  and 
sHe  was  hungry,  too,  and  enjoyed  her  supper  thor- 
oughly. I  wished  I  had  thought  to  bring  some 
champagne  for  her. 

Supper  refreshed  the  anarchists,  and  we  played 
hide-and-seek  in  the  twilight.  It  ought  to  have 
been  delightful  playing  hide-and-seek  with  Alice 
Devirie  among  the  pines,  but  the  ghost  trick  stuck 
in  my  mind.  It  had  spoilt  everything. 

It  was  dusk  when  we  started  back  to  town.    I 


66  ALICE  DEVINE 

carried  the  sleeping  Stepniak  to  the  car,  for  the 
ghost-girl  and  Cherlie  had  about  run  their  legs 
off.  At  the  car  the  anarchists  lingered  a  little  as 
though  they  could  not  drag  themselves  away  from 
the  Common.  In  the  car  they  chattered  for  a 
little  about  the  things  they  had  seen,  and  done,  and 
eaten. 

Cherlie  said:  "Oh,  it  was  a  beautiful  day! 
Such  a  beautiful  day  for  Steppie!" 

Then  they  all  fell  asleep  in  a  lump. 

The  ghost-girl  took  the  sleeping  Stepniak  from 
the  sleeping  Cherlie.  I  covered  the  sleeping  chil- 
dren with  a  rug,  and  drew  another  round  ourselves. 
We  sat  quiet  for  a  while,  and  I  could  see  her  eyes 
shining.  Then  she  began  to  talk  about  the  an- 
archists again,  and  the  children  like  them.  .  .  . 
How  she  wished  she  could  take  a  hundred  of  them 
into  the  country  every  day,  and  feed  them.  Her 
voice  grew  angry  and  thrilling  as  she  talked  of  what 
a  shame  it  was  that  they  should  live  half-fed  and 
half-clothed  in  the  pigsties  they  did.  But  somehow 
or  other  I  had  lost  my  keenness,  and  I  did  not  think 
any  more  about  the  House  of  Lords. 

She  was  sincere  enough  in  her  talk,  and  that 
again  did  not  go  with  the  ghost  trick.  All  the  time 


THE  ANARCHISTS  67 

she  talked  I  kept  thinking  of  it;  and  two  or  three 
times  it  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  ask  her 
why  she  had  played  it.  But  I  pulled  myself  up. 
She  said  she  had  had  a  beautiful  time;  why  should 
I  spoil  the  end  of  it? 

We  ran  into  London,  and  the  children  slept  on. 
I  could  see  her  face  again  now  in  the  light  of  the 
lamps.  She  told  me  that  the  anarchists  lived  in 
Lambeth,  in  one  room  with  their  father;  and  on 
the  way  she  helped  me  slip  the  gold  out  of  my 
sovereign-case,  wrapped  in  a  tenner,  into  the  pocket 
of  the  sleeping  Cherlie. 

Then  we  awoke  Robbie  to  guide  us;  and  he 
piloted  the  car  through  very  dirty  streets  to  the 
very  dirtiest.  As  we  pulled  up,  a  man  came  rush- 
ing out  of  the  house,  and  cried  in  a  frightened  shaky 
voice:  "MyGord!  Which  of 'em's  bin  run  over?" 

"We're  all  right,  father.  We've  bin  for  a 
moter-ride  in  the  country,"  said  Robbie  in  an  im- 
portant voice. 

"Lor'!  what  a  turn  the  car  did  give  me!  I 
thought  for  cert'in  as  'ow  one  of  yer  'ad  bin  run 
over,"  said  Mr.  Briggs,  and  he  panted. 

We  helped  the  sleepy  children  out,  and  their 
father  took  Stepniak.  He  stood  looking  rather 


68  ALICE  DEVINE 

dazed  from  the  fright  the  car  had  given  him,  and 
they  huddled  round  him,  telling  him  of  their  after- 
noon. I  pulled  the  hamper  out  of  the  car — there 
were  a  couple  of  meals  left  in  it — and  set  it  down 
beside  them. 

Cherlie  was  saying:  "Think  of  it,  father! 
Steppie  in  the  country.  .  .  .  The  real  country  .  .  . 
all  the  afternoon.  An'  ridin'  in  a  moter-car!" 

I  told  Gas  ton  to  start  the  car,  to  get  off  before 
the  thanks  began.  As  it  slid  away  we  called  back, 
"Good  night,  children!"  And  they  called  good 
night  to  us,  shrilly,  again  and  again. 

I  was  glad,  very  glad,  that  I  had  been  able  to 
give  them  a  good  time;  but  I  did  wish  that  I  had 
not  found  out  that  Alice  Devine  was  the  ghost- 
girl. 

When  we  came  out  of  the  slums,  I  said:  "And 
now,  where  shall  I  drive  you  home  ?" 

"Garthoyle  Gardens,  please,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  you  live  in  Garthoyle  Gardens?  Do  you 
know  Lord  Garthoyle  himself?"  I  said. 

"No.  Is  there  a  Lord  Garthoyle?  I  didn't 
know,"  she  said. 

She  was  certainly  speaking  the.  truth;  and  it 
made  things  more  puzzling  than  ever.  She  ha<? 


THE  ANARCHISTS  69 

evidently  played  the  trick  on  me  without  knowing 
who  I  was.  It  was  a  good  thing  I  had  been  as 
hoarse  as  a  crow  that  night,  and  therefore  she  had 
not  recognized  my  voice  as  I  had  recognized  hers. 
That  would  certainly  have  robbed  the  anarchists 
of  their  afternoon.  Besides,  there  was  that  kiss. 

At  the  end  of  the  Gardens  she  asked  me  to  stop, 
and  I  helped  her  out  of  the  car.  The  light  fell 
full  on  her  face  and  shining  eyes  as  she  thanked  me 
for  having  given  the  children  such  a  happy  after- 
noon. Then  she  paused.  I  felt  that  she  was  wait- 
ing for  me  to  suggest  taking  them  out  again,  but 
I  would  not  arrange  anything  of  the  kind. 

I  could  keep  an  eye  on  the  anarchists — I  knew 
their  address.  I  could  send  them  money  at  times 
or  I  might  find  a  job  for  their  father  down  at  Gar- 
thoyle.  But  at  the  moment  I  did  not  want  to  see 
Miss  Devine  again.  At  least  I  did  want  to;  but 
I  thought  I  had  much  better  not. 

"Good  night,  and  again  thank  you  a  thousand 
times,"  she  said,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

I  shook  it  and  said  good  night.  She  turned  and 
walked  away.  A  few  steps  off  I  heard  her  sigh. 

I  got  into  the  car  feeling  very  gloomy.  If  only 
I  had  not  recognized  her  as  the  ghost-girl! 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  AT  NO.   12 

IT  is  curious  how  I  went  on  feeling  annoyed  that 
Alice  Devine  was  the  girl  who  had  played  the 
ghost  trick  on  me.  I  had  only  spent  an  afternoon 
and  part  of  an  evening  with  her,  and  during  most 
of  that  time  I  had  been  occupied  with  the  anar- 
chists; yet  the  fact  that  she  was  the  ghost-girl 
stuck  in  my  mind  and  became  a  rankling  grievance. 
It  began  to  spoil  my  temper;  and  I  was  getting 
quite  morose. 

Jack  Thurman,  too,  was  in  a  gloomy  state  about 
something  or  other,  and  when,  one  day,  I  cursed 
things  generally,  he  surprised  me  by  agreeing  with 
everything  I  said. 

My  grievance  about  the  ghost-girl  seemed  to  af- 
fect everything.  It  made  me  less  keen  on  running 
the  Gardens,  and  even  my  polo  bored  me.  How- 
ever, I  got  my  twenty-one  kitchen-ranges,  and 
made  a  very  fair  contract  for  the  fixing  up  of  them 


7° 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  71 

in  the  twenty-one  houses,  not  all  at  once,  but  one 
at  a  time.  Also  I  sold  the  twenty-one  old  kitchen- 
ranges  at  a  very  fair  price  to  a  Yorkshireman  of 
an  unusually  speculative  turn  of  mind.  At  least  it 
seemed  to  me  that  he  must  be.  What  on  earth 
can  there  be  in  the  way  of  openings  for  a  worn-out 
kitchen-range?  However,  it  was  not  for  me  to 
balk  his  fancy. 

I  had  already  found  that  being  a  house-agent 
means  continual  work.  Just  as  you  think  you  have 
got  everything  cleared  up  for  a  week  ahead,  some- 
thing fresh  crops  up,  and  it  crops  up  every  day  of 
that  week.  If  there  was  not  actually  anything  to 
be  done,  there  were  always  letters  from  fussy  ten- 
ants to  answer. 

Of  all  the  tenants  who  ever  rented  a  house,  Sir 
Marmaduke  Ponderbury  is  the  fussiest.  I  sup- 
pose that  I  get  eight  fussy  letters  a  week  from  him; 
and  the  only  consolation  is  that  they  are  typewrit- 
ten and  easy  to  read — not  like  Lady  Pedders' — be- 
cause he  ambles  about  in  public  affairs,  and  keeps 
a  secretary  to  write  his  correspondence.  One  morn- 
ing there  came  from  him  a  letter  addressed  to  me 
personally,  and  not  to  Garth  and  Thurman.  It 
ran: 


72  ALICE  DEVINE 

"DEAR  LORD  GARTHOYLE, 

"I  am  addressing  myself  to  you  personally 
and  not  to  Messrs.  Garth  and  Thurman,  because 
you  are  one  of  my  own  order.  I  am  sorry  to  have 
to  inform  you  that  circumstances  have  arisen  which 
will  compel  me  to  abandon  the  rest  of  the  lease 
of  this  house.  Hieroglyphics  are  written  nearly 
every  day  on  the  inside  wall  of  my  porch;  and  I 
have  the  gravest  suspicion  of  their  purport  I  will 
do  myself  the  honor  of  calling  on  you  at  twelve 
o'clock  to  acquaint  you  with  the  matter.  Under 
these  circumstances,  you  will  not  be  surprised  by 
my  requesting  you  to  release  me  from  the  rest  of 
my  tenancy;  and  I  am  sure  that,  making  the  re- 
quest to  one  of  my  own  order,  it  will  not  be  re- 
fused. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"MARMADUKE  PONDERBURY/' 

"What  does  the  preposterous  old  idiot  mean?" 
I  said;  and  I  read  the  letter  aloud. 

Miss  Wishart,  my  stenographer  and  bookkeeper, 
smiled;  Jack  Thurman  laughed. 

"He  can't  suppose  that  I'm  going  to  let  him  off 
his  rent  because  somebody  scrawls  on  the  wall  of 
his  porch?"  I  said. 

"Can't  he,  though?"  said  Jack.  "You  don't  know 
old  Ponderbury.  He's  the  largest  spoilt  child  in 
England,  and  the  most  spoilt.  His  mother  spoilt 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  73 

him,  his  tutors  spoilt  him,  he  never  went  to  a 
school  or  a  university;  his  wife  spoilt  him;  he  has 
always  lived  surrounded  by  the  oiliest  gang  of 
sycophants  the  world  holds;  and  they  spoil  him 
worse.  He  believes  that  the  world  was  made  for 
him,  and  that  he's  the  most  important  man  in  it, 
or,  at  any  rate,  will  be,  when  he's  got  the  peerage 
he's  after.  I've  heard  him  say  the  most  incredible 
things — quite  incredible.  The  only  person  who 
doesn't  spoil  him  is  Mur  ...  his  daughter;  and 
he  hates  her." 

I  was  a  little  surprised.  Jack  does  not  often  let 
himself  go;  and  his  eyes  were  sparkling,  and  he 
was  scowling. 

"Oh,  you  know  them?"  I  said. 

"Yes,  I  know  them,"  said  Jack,  scowling  worse 
than  ever. 

"What  does  he  mean  by  calling  me  one  of  his 
own  order  ?  His  father  got  the  baronetcy  for  mak- 
ing crockery,"  I  said. 

"The  old  snob  thinks  himself  the  born  aristocrat 
of  the  bluest  blood.  He's  trying  to  get  a  peerage 
to  make  it  bluer." 

"These  new  rich  ones  make  me  feel  tired  every 
time,"  I  said. 


74  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Then  old  Ponderbury  should  make  you  collapse. 
He's  the  most  tedious  old  swollen-headed  rotter  that 
breathes!"  said  Jack  savagely. 

"You  seem  to  have  made  up  your  mind  about 
him  fairly  distinctly,"  I  said. 

"I  have,"  said  Jack. 

"I  suppose  he  has  played  the  spoilt  child  with 
you?" 

"All  over  me,"  said  Jack. 

"And  you  say  he  has  a  daughter?"  I  said. 

"Yes,  he  has,"  said  Jack.  And  he  hunched  him- 
self over  the  ledger  he  was  working  at,  as  if  he  did 
not  wish  to  talk  about  it. 

When  at  five  minutes  past  twelve  I  went  to  the 
library  to  interview  Sir  Marmaduke,  I  thought  it 
well  to  stick  my  eye-glass  in  my  eye,  leave  my  mouth 
open  and  look  like  an  idiot.  I  though  it  probable 
that  Sir  Marmaduke  would  be  quite  open  with  me; 
but  it  was  just  as  well  to  give  him  every  encourage- 
ment. We  should  get  on  quicker.  We  would  start 
the  leg-pulling  process  without  delay;  and  I  should 
know  what  he  was  up  to  without  wasting  time. 

When  I  came  into  the  room  a  large,  round,  gray 
man  bounced  up  out  of  a  chair,  and  bounced  across 
the  room  at  me;  just  bounced. 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  7$ 

"My  dear  Lord  Garthoyle,  I  am  charmed  to  make 
your  acquaintance,"  he  squeaked  in  a  high  voice 
which  did  not  go  with  his  round  largeness.  "But 
I  regret — I  regret  that  it  should  be  under  these 
painful  circumstances — these  extremely  painful  cir- 
cumstances." 

He  seized  my  hand  and  waggled  it  flabbily  in  a 
hand  uncommonly  like  a  big  uncooked  sole. 

"How  are  you?"  I  drawled.  "What — er — er — 
are  they?" 

He  sat  down  slowly  and  solemnly;  and  I  sized 
up  his  large  oblong,  flabby  face,  and  green  eyes 
under  thin  eyebrows  at  the  bottom  of  a  forehead 
which  ran  well  on  to  the  top  of  his  head,  owing  to 
the  retiring  hair. 

"These  hieroglyphics — these  menacing  hiero- 
glyphics," he  squeaked. 

"Ah,  er — yes;  the  scrawls  on  your  porch,"  I 
drawled. 

"Scrawls!  No,  no,  Lord  Garthoyle.  I  wish  I 
could  think  it.  I  tried  to  think  of  it  as  a  freak  of 
some  idle  boy — even  a  hoax.  They  are  hiero- 
glyphics drawn  with  a  deliberate  intent." 

"Does  it  matter?"  I  drawled. 

"Matter?    Matter?    It  is  a  most  serious  affair. 


76  ALICE  DEVINE 

But  I  see  that  you  don't  appreciate  its  seriousness 
— its  public  importance.  But  perhaps  you  do  not 
follow  public  affairs-— the  affairs  of  the  great  world 
< — with  close  interest?" 

"They're  not  much  in  my  line,  don't  you  know," 
I  drawled;  and  I  opened  my  mouth  a  little  wider. 

"No,  no.  I  quite  understand.  It  is  a  weakness 
of  our  order.  I  have  always  deplored  that  so  large 
a  percentage  of  it  should  devote  itself  to  other  vo- 
cations. Why,  if  the  whole  of  our  order  devoted 
itself  to  public  affairs,  we  could  absorb  them.  We 
should  have  a  monopoly.  There  would  be  no  room 
for  those  wretched  middle  classes  and  the  rest  of 
the  lower  orders.  Still,  there  are  a  few  of  us  who 
devote  ourselves  to  public  affairs.  I  myself  have 
figured  largely  in  public  life  for  many  years,  not 
only  as  President  of  the  Landlords'  Defense 
League,  but  in  many  other  ways  as  the  stanch  op- 
ponent of  the  forces  which  threaten  our  order  with 
destruction.  I  have  made  enemies — many  danger- 
ous enemies,  by  stemming  the  flood  of  Anarchy  and 
Socialism  which  is  striving  to  sweep  us  away.  I  am 
a  barrier,  Lord  Garthoyle — a  barrier."  And  he 
paused  to  look  tremendously  impressive. 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  77 

"A  barrier?  Where  they  take  tickets?"  I 
drawled,  looking  as  puzzled  as  I  could. 

"No,  no,  no!"  he  squeaked,  frowning.  "I  am  a 
barrier  to  the  advance  of  that  flood;  I  am  the  lion 
in  the  path."  He  looked  more  like  a  codfish  in  the 
path.  "It  can  not  move  on  to  its  task  of  fell  de- 
struction till  it  has  overwhelmed  me!  It  has  recog- 
nized this;  and  it  is  gathering  its  energies  to  sweep 
me  away." 

"That's  deucedly  interesting,"  I  said.  "Are  you 
backing  yourself  not  to  be  swept?  I'm  backing 
the  flood.  What  odds  will  you  take  ?"  And  I  pulled 
out  my  betting-book  and  looked  quite  lively. 

Sir  Marmaduke  was  pulled  up  short ;  he  stuttered : 

"This  is  not  a  matter  for  an  idle  w-w-wager.  I've 
n-n-never  made  a  b-b-bet  in  all  my  life." 

"It's  never  too  late  to  begin,"  I  said  cheerfully; 
and  I  drew  out  my  pencil  and  opened  the  betting- 
book. 

"No,  no,  no!  I'm  not  going  to  bet — I  won't 
bet!"  he  spluttered,  pouting  exactly  like  a  spoilt 
child  which  is  not  getting  its  own  way.  "I've  come 
about  these  heiroglyphics.  You  don't  understand." 

"But  this  is  such  a  good  bet  for  you,  don't  you 


78  ALICE  DEVINE 

know,"  I  said,  looking  quite  lively.  "Why,  it's 
the  chance  of  a  lifetime.  If  you  lose,  you  don't 
pay.  Your  executors  pay." 

"No,  no,  no!"  he  spluttered. 

"Come,  I'll  lay  you  even  money,  and  we'll  fix  a 
time  limit — say  a  year,"  I  said. 

"No  .  .  .  no!"  he  squeaked. 

"Well,  I'll  make  it  nine  months.  I  lay  you  even 
money  that  they  out  you  in  nine  months." 

I  pretended  to  be  tremendously  excited  about  it. 

"No  .  .  .no!"  he  almost  squealed. 

"But  think  what  a  comfort  it  will  be  to  you  when 
the  bomb  bursts,  or  the  knife  jabs  in  your  back,  to 
think  that  your  executors  will  have  to  pay,"  I  said 
as  persuasively  as  I  could. 

"I  will  not  bet!"  he  squealed.  "I  came  to  talk 
about  these  hieroglyphics,  and  you  won't  listen!" 

"Oh,  all  right  .  .  .  fire  away!"  I  said  in  a  dis- 
gusted tone. 

He  panted  a  little,  and  then  he  began:  "These 
hieroglyphics,  are  a  warning  and  a  threat.  I  am 
sure,  of  it.  When  I  first  saw  them  I  took  no  notice 
of  them  beyond  telling  my  butler  to  wipe  them 
away.  He  did  so;  they  .  .  .  were  .  .  .  renewed. 
My  suspicions  were  awakened ;  they  have  been  con- 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  79 

firmed.  The  hieroglyphics  are  not  only  renewed, 
when  they  are  wiped  away;  they  change.  Every 
three  or  four  days,  Lord  Garthoyle,  they  change. 
They  grow  more  threatening.  To-day  there  is  a 
distinct  coffin  and  a  bomb." 

"That's — er — pretty  thick,  don't  you  know,"  I 
said. 

"Thick?  [Thick?  It  would  appal  the  stoutest 
heart.  And  we  can't  find  put  who  draws  them. 
One  of  the  most  astute  firms  of  private  detectives  in 
London  has  been  watching  the  house  night  and 
day  for  a  fortnight.  The  hieroglyphics  are  drawn 
under  their  very  eyes.  They  must  be.  The  affair 
has  grown  so  sinister  that  the  time  has  come  for 
me  to  decide  whether  I  should  retire  from  the  fight 
or  continue  the  conflict.  There  is  a  great  meeting 
of  the  Landowners'  League  shortly;  if  I  speak  out, 
the  forces  of  anarchy  will  dash  themselves  upon  me. 
But  it  has  been  suggested  that  I  might  speak  out, 
and  then  retire  into  a  prudent  seclusion  for  a  few; 
months.  That  is  why  I  have  come  to  you.  You 
are  a  large  owner  of  property;  I  am  its  chief  de- 
fender. Are  you  willing  to  stand  by  me  if  I  pur- 
sue this  desperate  course,  by  releasing  me  from  the 
rest  of  my  tenancy?  Then,  when  these  miscreants 


8o  ALICE  DEVINE 

come  along  to  accomplish  their  fell  purpose,  they 
will  be  balked  by  an  empty  house." 

"I  think  I'd  rather  not,"  I  drawled.  'Two  thou- 
sand a  year  is  two  thousand  a  year." 

"But  what  is  a  paltry  two  thousand  a  year  com- 
pared with  the  enormous  interests  at  stake — the 
dearest  interests  of  our  order  ?  Consider  that,  Lord 
Garthoyle.  We  owners  of  property  stand  or  fall 
together." 

"I  don't  fall;  the  flood  isn't  out  after  me,"  I 
said. 

"But  your  order — you  will  surely  stand  by  your 
order?" 

"You're  doing  the  standing  by,  and  I'm  doing  the 
looking  on — admiring,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
don't  you  know.  Why,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I 
didn't  manage  to  back  the  flood  to  out  you  for  as 
much  as  a  monkey." 

"But  this  is  callousness,"  he  said. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  I  drawled.  "But  rent's  so 
uninteresting.  It's  the  sort  of  thing  that's  bound 
to  happen.  At  least  it  always  happened  to  me  till 
I  came  to  live  in  my  own  house.  There's  no  point 
in  interfering  with  rent.  But  a  bet's  quite  another 
thing — more  sporting — and  I'll  lay  you  .  .  ." 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  81 

"I'm  not  going  to  bet!  I'm  not  going  to  bet! 
I  keep  telling  you  so!"  he  squealed.  "And  you 
don't  realize  that  I'm  making  this  proposal  in  your 
own  interest.  You  don't  want  to  see  Number  12 
shattered  with  a  bomb?" 

"I  don't  mind.  It's  insured.  In  fact,  I  should 
like  to  touch  the  Insurance  Company  for  a  bit.  I'm 
always  shelling  out  to  it,"  I  said  calmly. 

"But  the  loss  of  life — surely  you  are  not  indif- 
ferent to  that?"  he  cried. 

"No!  Oh,  no!  I  shall  be  very  sorry,  don't  you 
know.  But  it's  your  game.  I  don't  put  up  the 
stakes,"  I  said. 

He  jumped  up  and  began  bouncing.  He  did 
look  uncommonly  like  a  large  gray,  india-rubber 
ball.  And  as  he  bounced  he  spluttered;  and  I 
caught  sentences  about  "Astonishing  insensibility," 
"Blind  to  the  clarion  call  of  duty,"  and  something 
about  Imperial  Rome  being  wrecked  by  callousness. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  lot  of  the  orator  about  him. 

At  last  I  said  in  a  hopeful  voice:  "It's  quite 
likely  they  won't  throw  any  bomb  at  all.  They'll 
just  knife  you  on  the  quiet,  or  plug  you  from  behind 
with  a  revolver.  I  don't  think  you  need  worry  about 
Number  12.  I  shan't." 


82  ALICE  DEVINE 

He  stopped  bouncing  and  stared  at  me  with  his 
eyes  wide  open  ;  and  his  face  turned  green  in  places. 

"And  is  this  the  gratitude  one  gets  from  one's 
order?"  he  said  in  a  kind  of  squeaky  whisper. 

"Oh,  I'm  quite  grateful,"  I  said,  smiling  at  him 
pleasantly.  "I  should  send  —  a  what-d'ye-call-it  ?  — 
a  wreath  to  your  funeral.  I  couldn't  do  less,  don't 
you  know." 

He  went  a  little  greener;  but  he  did  not  seem 
to  be  able  to  find  anything  to  say.  I  fancied  I 
was  getting  square  with  him  for  bothering  me  with 
his  fussy  letters.  Then  I  had  a  happy  idea;  I  said 
I  would  come  and  take  a  look  at  the  hieroglyphics 
myself,  and  I  bustled  him  out  of  the  house  and 
across  to  his  own.  He  did  not  say  much,  he  seemed 
to  be  thinking  hard;  and  he  did  not  bounce.  He 
walked  rather  feebly.  Two  or  three  times  he  looked 
back  over  his  shoulder;  I  fancied  he  was  looking 
for  that  knife. 

We  came  to  Number  12,  and  went  up  into  the 
porch  of  it  On  the  left-hand,  inside  wall  were 
these  figures,  drawn  in  chalk: 


4 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  83 

I  looked  at  them  and  said:  "I  suppose  this 
thing  on  the  right  is  what  you  call  the  coffin?  I 
don't  call  it  a  coffin;  it  might  be  anything,  don't 
you  know.  Is  the  round  tiling  with  the  cross  in 
the  middle  the  bomb?" 

'^Yes;  that  is  undoubtedly  the  rough  drawing  of 
a  bomb,"  he  said  in  a  fainting  kind  of  voice. 

"I  don't  see  it  a  bit,"  I  said.  "What's  the  thing 
next  it?" 

"An  infernal  machine,"  he  said. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  very  pretty,  dark-eyed, 
dark-haired  girl  came  out.  As  she  came  out  she 
looked  quickly  from  us  to  the  hieroglyphics,  and 
back  again.  I  dropped  my  eye-glass  and  shut  my 
mouth.  There  was  no  point  in  looking  like  a  per- 
feet  ass  before  her. 

Sir  Marmaduke  introduced  her  to  me  as  his 
daughter  Muriel,  and  I  said :  "I  was  just  looking 
at  the  hieroglyphics.  I  don't  see  that  they're 
coffins  and  bombs  and  infernal  machines." 

"I  say  they  are,  and  Mr.  Manders  agrees  with 
me,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke  solemnly,  in  a  disagree- 
able tone. 

"Mr.  Manders  always  agrees  with  you.  They're 
just  scrawls,"  she  said  sharply. 


84  ALICE  DEVINE 

"I  never  expect  any  sympathy  or  understanding 
from  you,  Muriel.  I  do  not  look  for  it.  We  are 
agreed  that  the  figures  are  a  coffin,  a  bomb,  an  in- 
fernal machine,  a  bomb  of  a  different  pattern  and 
the  figure  four." 

"I'm  not  agreed,"  I  said.  "I  think  they  might  be 
anything." 

"I'm  sure  that  they're  a  chocolate-box,  a  hot- 
cross-bun,  a  cake,  a  plum-pudding  and  the  figure 
four,"  said  Miss  Ponderbury. 

"Of  course  I  might  have  known  it.  I  stand  on 
the  verge  of  a  tremendous  peril;  and  all  I  get  from 
my  daughter — my  only  daughter — is  mockery!"  he 
snapped ;  and  he  was  no  longer  greenish,  but  a  nice 
bright  red. 

"You're  so  silly,  father.  You  let  the  Manders 
humbug  you  about  anything,"  she  said. 

"It  is  like  you  to  sneer  at  my  faithful  friends!" 
he  snapped. 

It  did  not  seem  to  me  that  it  was  part  of  the  duty 
of  the  complete  house-agent  to  assist  at  the  family 
scraps  of  his  tenants;  and  I  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "I 
think  I'll  just  take  these  figures." 

They  stopped  scrapping  to  watch  me  draw  the 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  85 

figures  in  my  betting-book.  In  the  middle  of  it  I 
looked  up  and  found  Miss  Ponderbury  smiling  at 
me  in  an  odd  sort  of  way,  as  if  she  thought  me  silly 
to  bother  with  them. 

With  a  little  bow  she  said:  "Good-by,  Lord 
Garthoyle.  It  is  silly  of  you,  father,  to  let  the  Man- 
ders  worry  you  about  these  scrawls."  And  she 
went  down  the  steps  and  along  the  pavement  to- 
ward Mount  Street. 

I  was  just  finishing  the  drawings  when  a  small 
sharp-looking  woman  bustled  out  of  the  house  and 
went  off  down  the  pavement  after  her. 

"That's  got  them,"  I  said,  putting  my  betting- 
book  into  my  pocket. 

"It  only  remains  to  discover  what  the  hiero- 
glyphics mean  as  a  whole,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke. 

"They  do  look  pretty  bad,"  I  said. 

Sir  Marmaduke  looked  very  gloomy.  He  seemed 
to  be  thinking  about  the  funeral  wreath. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  chuck  it  and  go  abroad," 
I  said. 

"Never!  I  will  never  desert  my  order!"  he 
squeaked;  but  he  did  not  seem  very  full  of  en- 
thusiasm. 


86 


ALICE  DEVINE 


"Well,  I'll  bet  fifty  to  forty  that  these  anarchists, 
if  they  are  anarchists  —  will  out  you  all  right.  Your 
executors  to  pay,"  I  said. 

"I  won't  bet  about  such  a  thing!  I  consider  the 
suggestion  monstrous,"  he  squeaked  furiously. 

"Well,  if  you  won't,  you  won't.  But  anyhow 
I'll  leave  the  bet  open.  You  may  change  your 
mind,  you  know,"  I  said  cheerfully.  "Good-by." 

He  said  good-by  peevishly. 

I  went  home  and  into  my  office.  I  showed  Jack 
my  drawings  of  the  hieroglyphics,  and  he  did  not 
take  much  interest  in  them.  But  he  was  interested 
in  Miss  Ponderbury's  scrap  with  her  gutta-percha 
papa,  and  said  that  she  was  treating  him  as  he 
wanted  treating. 

"Well,  I  hope  I  helped  to  frighten  the  silly  old 
india-rubber  ball  into  some  out-of-the-way  corner 
where  he  can't  bother  me  with  his  infernal  fussy 
letters,"  I  said. 

"It's  possible.  Let's  hope  for  the  best,"  said 
Jack. 

We  discussed  the  question  (at  least  I  did;  Jack 
did  not  seem  interested  in  it)  of  who  was  playing 
the  trick  on  Sir  Marmaduke. 

At  last  Jack  said:     "It  might  be  anybody.     If 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  87 

any  one  were  introduced  to  the  preposterous  old 
idiot,  the  first  thing  he  would  go  and  do  would  be 
to  go  and  scrawl  hieroglyphics  on  his  porch  wall." 

"He  is  a  bouncing  temptation  to  the  average 
sportsman,"  I  said. 

It  was  plain  that  Sir  Marmaduke's  theory  about 
anarchists  was  rubbish,  but  to  make  quite  sure,  I 
went  round  to  see  that  rising  young  politician,  my 
cousin,  Herbert  Polkington,  and  asked  him  if  Sir 
Marmaduke  Ponderbury  were  sufficiently  impor- 
tant for  anarchists  to  throw  bombs  at. 

Herbert  is  an  austere  fish,  and  meek;  but  at  my 
question  his  eyes  flashed,  his  pasty  face  turned  pink, 
he  thumped  his  table  and  cried:  "Important! 
Ponderbury  important?  If  being  the  most  pes- 
tiferous old  busybody  in  London,  and  badgering 
everybody  to  be  made  a  peer  for  it,  is  being  im- 
portant, then  he  is  important.  He  pesters  my 
life  out,  since  I'm  one  of  the  people  who  look  after 
the  jparty  rewards.  I  get  hundreds  of  letters  from 
him,  and  he's  always  forcing  himself  on  me  here 
and  everywhere.  I  wish  to  heavens  the  anarchists 
would  blow  him  up !" 

I  had  not  seen  Herbert  so  excited  for  years; 
and  I  spent  a  good  half -hour  trying  to  persuade  him 


88  ALICE  DEVINE 

that  it  was  a  very  serious  matter  and  he  ought  to 
come  round  to  the  Gardens  and  look  at  the  hiero- 
glyphics himself.  He  grew  even  more  excited,  re- 
fusing to  waste  his  time  on  doing  anything  of  the 
kind;  and  I  left  him  ruffled. 

He  had  cleared  my  mind  of  the  last  bit  of  un- 
easiness about  the  hieroglyphics;  but  I  decided  to 
back  Ponderbury  to  get  his  peerage  every  time  I 
got  the  chance.  A  man  who  could  so  infuriate 
Herbert  that  he  turned  rose-pink  at  just  the  men- 
tion of  his  name,  was  dead  certain  of  it  He  must 
be  a  perfectly  pertinacious  beggar. 

I  soon  had  proof  of  it.  I  had  five  letters  in  the 
next  three  days,  begging  me  to  stand  by  my  order 
and  release  him  from  his  tenancy.  Then  he  ad- 
vertised in  the  Daily  Mail,  offering  a  hundred 
pounds  reward  for  information  about  the  person 
who  scrawled  the  figures  on  the  wall  of  his  porch. 

I  laughed  when  Jack  showed  me  the  advertise- 
ment; but  I  did  not  laugh  when  the  Ponderbury 
mystery,  with  pictures  and  explanations  of  the 
hieroglyphics,  filled  columns  in  the  papers,  and  the 
swarm  of  amateur  detectives  settled  in  the  Gardens. 
There  were  scores  of  them.  There  must  have  been 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  89 

forty  clean-shaven  young  men  who  looked  like  the 
pictures  of  Sherlock  Holmes;  there  were  dozens 
of  retired  Army  and  Naval  men,  all  trying  to  look 
like  born  detectives,  and  there  were  about  twenty 
women,  young,  middle-aged  and  old — English  and 
foreign.  I  could  not  go  out  of  the  house  without 
getting  nine  piercing  glances  from  eagle  eyes,  and 
being  dogged  by  half  a  dozen  men  and  women  to 
my  club.  There  was  always  a  group  in  the  porch 
of  Number  12,  examining  the  scrawls,  and  twice 
I  saw  Muriel  Ponderbury  in  the  window,  watching 
them  with  great  enjoyment.  I  learned  that  Sir 
Marmaduke  was  having  a  glorious  time;  his  corre- 
spondence was  delivered  in  big  sacks;  and  all  the 
papers  called  him  "The  man  who  stands  by  his 
Order."  It  really  looked  as  if  the  Government 
would  have  to  give  him  a  peerage  at  once. 

I  went  round  and  saw  Herbert  again,  and  asked 
him  if  this  was  not  so.  He  only  turned  rose-pink, 
like  a  blushing  debutante,  as  I  told  him — and  cursed 
me. 

Then  I  met  Ponderbury  coming  out  of  one  of 
my  clubs — the  Palladium;  he  bounced  once  and 
squeaked:  "England  has  responded  nobly  to  my 


90  ALICE  DEVINE 

peril,  Lord  Garthoyle.  I  have  had  letters  from  all 
over  the  country,  bidding  me  fight  on  against  the 
flood  of  anarchy." 

"I'm  still  laying  five  to  four  on  the  flood.  All 
this  will  make  them  keener  than  ever  to  put  you," 
I  said. 

"Never  a  word  of  sympathy  or  congratulation 
from  my  own  order,"  he  squeaked.  And  he 
bounced,  pouting,  down  the  steps. 

There  were  no  new  hieroglyphics,  for  there  were 
always  four  or  five  amateur  detectives  in  the  porch 
of  Number  12.  They  were  a  nuisance.  They  were 
all  over  the  place;  they  were  always  being  turned 
out  of  the  Numbers  10  and  n.  One  had  to  be  re- 
moved by  the  police  with  a  fire-escape  from  the  roof 
of  Number  10.  They  positively  nested  in  the  trees 
in  the  garden  of  the  triangle  which  overlooked  the 
porch,  and  they  fought  one  another  for  places  in 
the  shrubbery  opposite  it.  But  since  they  were  al- 
ways there,  on  the  watch,  they  prevented  any  new 
hieroglyphics  being  written,  and  began  to  lose  their 
keenness.  They  grew  fewer  and  fewer  quickly;  and 
in  a  few  days  the  last  one  had  gone. 

The  very  next  morning,  on  the  same  wall  of  Sir 
Marmaduke's  porch,  there  was  a  freshly-scrawled 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  91 

figure,  the  figure  which  he  had  called  a  bomb.  This 
one: 


He  must  have  wired  the  news  to  the  evening 
papers,  for  before  noon  the  amateur  detectives  were 
swarming  again.  And  for  the  rest  of  the  day  they 
were  all  over  the  place. 

After  dinner  that  night,  I  was  strolling  across 
to  the  garden  to  smoke  a  cigar  in  the  moonlight, 
when  I  saw  Muriel  Ponderbury  go  through  the  gate 
of  it  just  in  front  of  me.  I  strolled  after  her  to 
ask  her  the  latest  news  of  the  hieroglyphics.  She 
passed  out  of  sight  round  the  corner  of  a  shrubbery. 
As  I  came  round  it  I  heard  voices,  and  the  sound 
of  a  kiss;  and  I  came  right  on  to  her  and  Jack 
Thurman  standing  very  close  together.  I  was 
naturally  shocked  to  find  that  people  kissed  each 
other  in  this  exclusive  garden;  but  I  managed 
to  say  a  few  kind  words  about  the  moonlight  and 
strolled  on  trying  to  look  as  if  I  hadn't  been 
shocked. 

I  had  never  guessed  that  Jack  had  a  love  affair. 
But  I  was  pleased  to  see  that  he  was  not  letting 


92  ALICE  DEVINE 

his  barrister's  brieflessness  prevent  him  kissing  a 
pretty  girl  because  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  very 
rich  man.  It  set  me  wishing  that  I  had  a  love  affair 
myself;  and  somehow  or  other  I  found  myself 
staring  at  Number  9  where  Alice  Devine  lived.  The 
house  was  lighted  up:  Scruton  was  evidently 
giving  a  party.  Then  I  caught  myself  wishing 
that  I  went  to  his  parties  and  met  her.  I  pulled 
myself  up  very  short.  It  would  never  do  to  get 
into  the  way  of  thinking  about  the  ghost-girl.  I 
did  not  want  to  get  into  the  mess  of  a  lifetime. 
I  cleared  out  of  the  garden  and  the  moonlight,  off 
to  one  of  my  clubs,  and  played  an  honest  game  of 
auction  bridge. 

Next  morning  Jack  said  to'  me:  "I  say,  I'd 
rather  you  didn't  tell  any  one  you  saw  me  with  Miss 
Ponderbury  last  night." 

"I  shouldn't  dream  of  it,"  I  said. 

"We're  going  to  be  married  as  soon  as  she's  of 
age — in  seven  months.  Her  silly  old  dunderhead 
of  a  father  is  dead  against  it.  He's  made  her 
promise  not  to  write  to  me;  and  he  employs  the*  wife 
of  that  sponger  Manders  to  see  that  she  never 
speaks  to  me.  We  don't  often  get  a  chance  of 
meeting." 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  93 

"I  hope  you  make  up  for  it  when  you  do,"  I 
said. 

"Oh,  we  try.  But  it's  hard  work  waiting,"  he 
said. 

"It  must  be,"  said  I. 

He  said  nothing  for  a  minute  or  two;  then  he 
said:  "It's  time  you  were  getting  married  your- 
self." 

"I  know  it  is.  But  I  stave  it  off — I  stave  it 
off,"  I  said;  and  I  don't  know  why  on  earth  I 
should  have  seen  a  sudden  picture  of  Alice  Devine's 
flushed  face  and  shining  eyes,  just  as  I  had  seen 
them  on  Chipperfield  Common. 

Parkhurst  interrupted  us  to  say  that  Sir  Marma- 
duke  Ponderbury  wanted  to  see  me  particularly,  and 
was  waiting  in  the  library.  When  I  went  into  it 
with  my  eye-glass  in  my  eye,  and  my  mouth  well 
open,  he  was  standing  before  a  window,  bouncing 
gently. 

He  turned  and  squeaked  very  shrilly:  "Lord 
Garthoyle,  I've  come  to  make  a  last  appeal  to  you, 
as  one  of  my  own  order,  to  release  me  from  my 
tenancy." 

"What's  happened  now?  I  thought  you  were 
going  so  strong,"  I  drawled. 


94  ALICE  DEVINE 

He  was  a  pertinacious  beggar. 

"The  result  of  my  defying  these  miscreants  by 
my  advertisement  is  that  yesterday  there  was  a 
single  hieroglyphic — the  figure  of  a  bomb,"  he 
squeaked.  "It's  the  last  warning.  They  will  act 
at  once!  Any  minute!  After  a  sleepless  night  I 
have  resolved  to  balk  them  by  flight." 

"Well,  /  don't  object.  I  haven't  got  a  bet  with 
you  about  it,  or  I  might  call  on  you  to  stick  it  out," 
I  said. 

"But  my  rent — are  you  going  to  let  me  off  the 
rest  of  my  lease  ?"  he  squeaked. 

"No;  I'm  not  going  to  interfere  with  your  pay- 
ing your  rent.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll 
lay  you  seven  to  four  now  that,  whether  you  bolt 
or  whether  you  don't,  the  flood  of  Anarchy  outs 
you." 

He  was  looking  rather  green — he  turned  greener. 
Then  he  bounced  from  side  to  side,  two  or  three 
times,  and  cried:  "It's  incredible!  Absolutely  in- 
credible! If  the  ordinary  landlord  had  refused,  I 
could  have  understood  it.  But  that  one  of  my  own 
order  should  refuse,  when  I'm  fighting  for  that 
order — it's  incredible !" 

"I'm  not  going  to  spoil  sport,  don't  you  know* 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  95 

Here  are  you  and  these  anarchists  having  a  little 
set-to,  and  I  want  to  see  the  best  man  win.  Come, 
will  you  take  seven  to  four  that  they  out  you?" 
I  said  cheerfully. 

"The  sporting  spirit  is  the  curse  of  our  order!" 
he  howled.  And  out  of  the  room  and  down  the 
stairs  he  bounced. 

Next  morning  I  got  a  letter  from  him  marked 
"Urgent."  It  ran : 

"The  bomb  has  been  drawn  on  the  porch  wall 
again.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  police  are 
watching  the  house.  I  fly  this  afternoon.  Will  you 
release  me  from  my  tenancy? 

"M.  P." 

I  expected  he  had  bounced  all  over  his  house,  and 
I  wrote  in  the  name  of  Garth  and  Thurman  saying 
that  we  could  not  see  our  way  to  let  him  off  his 
rent. 

Later  in  the  morning  I  strolled  out  into  the  gar- 
den of  the  triangle  to  see  what  the  amateur  de- 
tectives were  doing.  They  were  buzzing  in  a  swarm 
in  front  of  Sir  Marmaduke's  house,  in  the  porch, 
on  the  pavement,  in  the  roadway,  and  in  the  shrub- 
bery of  the  central  garden.  About  fourteen  alter- 


96  ALICE  DEVINE 

cations  were  going  on  in  a  lively  way,  and  I  waited 
for  a  while  in  the  hope  of  seeing  a  general  scrap. 
But  there  was  nothing  but  altercations,  and  making 
up  my  mind  that  amateur  detectives  are  noisy,  but 
peaceful,  I  strolled  on  round  the  garden,  to  see  how 
the  gardeners  were  doing  their  work. 

In  the  middle  of  the  garden  I  suddenly  came  on 
the  ghost-girl,  and  my  heart  gave  quite  a  jump. 
She  was  walking  toward  me,  looking  at  the  ground, 
her  pretty  forehead  wrinkled  with  a  frown,  think- 
ing hard.  I  thought  for  half  a  second  that  I  would 
bolt  before  she  saw  me,  then  I  thought  that  I  would 
do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Then  she  looked  up  and 
saw  me  and  flushed. 

We  shook  hands,  and  she  said:  "Have  you  too 
come  into  the  garden  to  find  out  about  the  hiero- 
glyphics?" 

"I'm  afrain  my  brains  wouldn't  run  to  it,"  I  said. 

It  was  plainly  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  ask  me 
what  I  was  doing  there,  since  only  residents  are 
allowed  in  the  garden,  and  of  course  she  no  more 
knew  that  I  lived  in  the  Gardens  than  she  knew 
my  name,  or  that  I  was  the  man  on  whom  she  had 
played  the  ghost  trick. 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  97 

She  did  not  aslc,  she  looked  at  me  earnestly,  and 
said: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Garth,  you  helped  me  to  take  those 
poor  children  into  the  country  when  I  had  lost  my 
purse.  I  wonder  if  you'd  help  me  now?" 

"Of  course  I  will,"  I  said. 

"I've  found  out  the  secret  of  the  hieroglyphics, 
but  I  don't  quite  know  what  to  do." 

"The  dickens  you  have !"  I  cried. 

"Yes.  I  want  that  hundred  pounds  reward 
awfully — for  some  more  poor  children  I've  made 
friends  with.  My  stepfather  said  that  it  was  quite 
plain  that  the  hieroglyphics  were  drawn  by  some 
one  who  lived  in  Number  12.  So  I've  been  watch- 
ing and  watching  the  house  with  glasses.  Yester- 
day I  found  out  that  it  is  the  pretty  girl — Miss  Pon- 
derbury,  I  think  it  is — who  writes  them;  and  she 
writes  them  for  a  dark  young  man  with  a  big 
hooked  nose,  who  lives  at  Number  18." 

Jack  Thurman!  That  was  his  beak.  It  could 
be  no  one  else's.  And  as  I  thought  of  Sir  Marma- 
duke's  terrors,  and  all  the  fuss  in  the  papers,  I 
burst  out  laughing — all  that  fuss  about  a  lovers' 
signal  code! 


98  ALICE  DEVINE 

Miss  Devine  stared  at  me,  and  then  she  said: 
"Yes,  it  is  funny — all  that  fuss.  But  she  did  do  it. 
There  was  nothing  on  the  wall  of  the  porch  at  six 
yesterday  morning.  At  half  past  six  she  came  out 
of  the  house,  stopped  just  a  few  seconds  in  the 
porch  and  walked  across  into  the  garden.  I  slipped 
out  at  the  far  gate,  came  down  past  the  house,  ran 
up  the  steps,  and  saw  the  hieroglyphic  on  the  wall." 

"Excellent!"    I  said. 

"I  came  back  to  the  garden  and  went  on  watching. 
I  saw  a  housemaid  find  the  hieroglyphic,  and  I  saw 
all  the  fuss  that  the  servants  and  Sir  Marmaduke 
Ponderbury  and  the  police  made  when  the  hiero- 
glyphic was  found.  Sir  Marmaduke  was  highly 
excited,  talked  very  shrilly,  and  jumped  up  and 
down." 

"He  does  bounce,"  I  said. 

"And  I  saw  Miss  Ponderbury  go  back  into  the 
house  soon  after  eight.  Then  at  ten  minutes  to 
nine  the  young  man  with  the  big  nose  came  by,  ran 
up  the  steps,  took  one  look  at  the  hieroglyphic,  and 
came  down  the  steps,  looking  ever  so  pleased.  I 
saw  quite  plainly  from  his  face  that  he  knew  all 
about  it,  that  it  was  drawn  for  him.  I'm  quite  sure 
of  it." 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  99 

"So  am  I,"  I  said.  "You  must  claim  the  reward 
at  once." 

"That's  just  the  difficulty.  It's  why  I  want  your 
help,  or  rather  your  advice.  Last  night  I  saw  Miss 
Ponderbury  and  the  young  man  in  the  garden  here, 
and  they — and  they — oh,  well,  they  seemed  very 
fond  of  each  other.  It  would  be  a  shame  to  get 
them  into  trouble.  Yet  I  should  like  to  get  that 
hundred  pounds  reward.  What  am  I  to  do?" 

"I  see.  You  want  that  money,  but  you  don't 
want  the  path  of  true  love  to  run  rough.  Let's 
think,"  I  said.  But  I  did  not  find  it  easy  to  think 
with  her  standing"  before  me  looking  so  charming 
with  her  frowning,  puzzled  face. 

"I  think  I  see  a  way,"  I  said  presently.  "But  old 
Ponderbury  will  be  as  mad  as  a  hatter.  He'll  be 
the  laughing-stock  of  England.  It  will  knock  his 
precious  peerage  on  the  head  for  good  and  all." 

"His  being  angry  is  just  what  I'm  afraid  of," 
she  said.  "It  is  quite  plain  that  he's  already  angry 
with  them,  or  they  wouldn't  have  to  meet  secretly. 
This  will  make  him  worse  than  ever." 

"If  you  like  to  leave  it  with  me,  I  think  I  can 
work  it  without  harming  them;  and  I'll  send  Sir 
Marmaduke's  check  along  to  you,  if  I  get  it." 


ioo  ALICE  DEVINE 

"It  would  be  splendid  if  you  could — a  hundred 
pounds!  But  you  mustn't  make  trouble  for  those 
two,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  I  won't  do  that.  I  wouldn't  roughen  the 
path  of  true  love  on  any  account.  I  might  be  there 
myself  one  of  these  days,"  I  said. 

"One  never  knows,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  since  the  expe- 
dition? And  how  are  your  young  anarchists?"  I 
inquired. 

She  told  me  she  had  given  some  teas  in  Hyde 
Park  to  two  or  three  other  lots  of  poor  children, 
and  that  the  anarchist  family  of  Briggs  was  going 
very  strong.  She  had  been  invited  to  join  Charlotte 
Corday  Briggs  on  a  great  shopping  expedition ;  and 
from  Robespierre  to  Stepniak  the  family  was  re- 
splendent. 

It  was  past  one  before  we  had  finished  our  talk; 
and  she  hurried  away  to  lunch.  I  walked  across  to 
Number  12,  and  was  taken  straight  to  Sir  Marma- 
duke,  in  a  small  room  at  the  back  of  the  house — out 
of  reach  of  the  bombs.  He  was  sitting  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  looking  as  if  he  were  out  on  a  rough 
sea,  and  it  was  not  agreeing  with  him. 

"Ah,  at  the  last  moment  you  have  decided  to 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  101 

stand  by  your  order,  and  release  me  from  my 
tenancy?"  he  said. 

"No,  I've  come  for  the  hundred  pounds  reward," 
I  said. 

"You've  found  the  miscreants?  Then  I  can 
bring  them  to  justice  at  once!  I  must  act  swiftly 
and  terribly!  The  country  will  expect  it  of  me! 
Their  names?"  And  he  was  up  and  bouncing. 

"Well,  there's  only  one,  and  it's  Miss  Ponder- 
bury,"  I  said. 

"Miss  Ponderbury?    My  daughter?"  he  gasped. 

"It  seems  you  made  her  promise  not  to  write  to 
my  friend,  Jack  Thurman,  and  these  hieroglyphics 
are  their  signals." 

"But  this  is  monstrous !"  he  squeaked. 

"It's  very  natural,  don't  you  know?"  I  drawled. 

"Incredible!  Monstrous!"  he  squealed,  bounc- 
ing. "My  own  daughter!  I'll  have  no  more  to 
do  with  her!  I'll  send  her  away!  She  shall  never 
enter  this  house  again!" 

He  went  on  for  a  long  time  about  the  ungrateful- 
ness of  tricking  one's  father;  and  I  let  him  bounce 
and  squeal. 

Then  I  said :  "I  should  have  thought  you  would 
have  been  glad  to  be  rid  of  your  fear  of  anarchists." 


102  ALICE  DEVINE 

"When  I  think  of  what  I  have  suffered,  I  could 
curse  my  daughter — curse  her,  Lord  Garthoyle!" 
he  squeaked. 

"Yes.  That's  all  right;  it's  relieving,"  I  said. 
"But  the  worst  thing  is,  your  public  work  is  spoiled 
for  good  and  all." 

"Why,  how?"  he  squeaked. 

"When  it  comes  to  be  known  that  you've  made 
all  this  fuss  about  some  lovers'  signals,  you'll  be 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  country;  and  no  one  will 
ever  take  you  seriously  again." 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  he  gasped.  And  he 
collapsed  into  his  armchair. 

I  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  let  him  think  of  it; 
then  I  said:  "You  won't  be  able  to  do  any  public 
work  at  all,  and  you'll  never  get  that  peerage,  un- 
less you  can  hush  it  up." 

"Yes,  yes;  you're  right!  I'll  send  my  daughter 
away  at  once — to-night,"  he  cried. 

"What  good  would  that  do?  That  wouldn't 
shut  Jack  Thurman's  mouth.  It  would  open  it. 
You've  got  to  shut  it,"  I  said. 

"Curse  that  young  man!  Curse  him!"  he 
squeaked. 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  103 

"Oh,  yes.  By  all  means.  But  he's  got  you  in  a 
cleft  stick.  You've  got  to  let  them  get  married." 

"Never!  Never!  They  shall  never  marry!"  he 
squealed.  And  he  was  bouncing  up  and  down 
again. 

I  let  him  bounce  till  he  was  tired,  then  I  said: 
"It  seems  rather  silly  to  become  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  country  and  lose  a  peerage  for  a  fad  like 
this.  Really  Jack  Thurman  has  done  you  a  real 
service.  He's  brought  your  name  before  the  pub- 
lic as  no  work  of  your  own  ever  did.  He's  really 
got  you  a  peerage,  if  you  sit  tight  and  take  it.  But 
you  know  best.  I'll  let  the  papers  know  about  this 
discovery  at  once,  myself." 

I  rose,  and  was  opening  the  door,  when  he  cried : 
"Wait!  Wait!  I  must  think  about  it!  Don't 
be  so  hasty!" 

He  flung  himself  back  in  the  armchair,  pouting, 
with  his  eyes  full  of  tears;  and  I  expected  him  to 
start  blubbering. 

At  last  he  said  very  sulkily:  "I  yield.  They 
shall  marry.  I  do  not  yield  out  of  fear  of  ridicule. 
I  do  not  abandon  my  just  resentment.  The  good  of 
my  country  demands  my  surrender,  the  surrender 


104  ALICE  DEVINE 

of  my  private  feelings;  I  can  not  let  myself  be 
paralyzed  in  my  work  for  its  best  interest.  They 
shall  marry!"  he  squeaked  solemnly. 

"That's  all  right,"  I  said.  "And  now  we'll  draw 
up  the  contract." 

He  kicked  at  this;  but  what  I  felt  was  that  it 
was  no  use  my  being  a  house-agent  if  I  did  not 
draw  up  contracts.  Besides,  he  seemed  to  me  too 
peevish  to  trust.  I  just  bullied  him  into  it. 

I  drew  up  the  contract  myself.  He  gave  his 
consent  to  Miss  Ponderbury's  marrying  Jack  in 
three  months'  time.  He  settled  seven  hundred  a 
year  on  her  (I  tried  to  make  it  a  thousand,  but  I 
found  that  that  was  trying  him  too  high,  and  might 
upset  the  whole  business).  When  he  had  signed 
the  contract  he  wrote  a  check  for  the  hundred 
pounds  reward  for  Alice  Devine. 

After  it  he  was  better.  He  bounced  beside  me 
to  the  front  door,  and  as  I  went  down  the  steps,  he 
said :  "It  is  a  relief  once  more  to  take  up  the  work 
of  strengthening  our  order  with  an  unharassed 
mind."  And  he  bounced  once. 

When  I  got  home  I  sent  the  check  round  to  Alice 
Devine  and  went  into  my  office.  Jack  had  just  come 
back  after  his  lunch. 


THE  HIEROGLYPHICS  105 

"I've  just  drawn  up  a  contract,  and  I  should  like 
you  to  look  through  it,"  I  said.  "I  think  it's  all 
right."  And  I  gave  it  to  him. 

He  could  not  believe  his  eyes.  "What  ?  Where  ? 
How?  How  on  earth  did  you  get  this  out  of  the 
old  dunderhead  ?"  he  stammered. 

"Gently  with  your  future  father-in-law,"  I  said; 
and  I  told  him  the  line  I  had  taken. 

When  I  had  stopped  his  thanks,  I  pulled  out 
my  drawing  of  the  hieroglyphics,  and  asked  him 
what  they  meant  exactly. 

"They  showed  me  where  Muriel  would  be  on  the 
fourth  day  after  it  was  drawn,"  he  said.  "The 
four  shows  the  fourth  day,  the  circle  with  the  line 
drawn  through  it  at  the  bottom  of  it  is  the  after- 
noon sun;  if  the  line  were  drawn  through  the  top 

it  would  be  the  morning  sun.    The  ducal  coronet. 

» 

•  •  • 

"You  call  that  a  coronet?"  I  interrupted  with 
surprise.  "Ponderbury  called  it  an  infernal  ma- 
chine," I  said. 

"It's  a  coronet — a  ducal  coronet.  It  meant  that 
Muriel  would  be  at  the  Duchess  of  Huddersfield's 
in  the  afternoon.  The  circle  with  the  cross  means 
the  night — the  crossed  out  sun.  The  square  with 


106  ALICE  DEVINE 

the  three  in  it  is  3,  Berkeley  Square.  That's  where 
she'd  be  that  night." 

"I  see,"  I  said.  "And  what  does  the  bomb — 
the  crossed-out  sun — the  last  hieroglyphic  you 
drew,  mean  when  it's  by  itself?" 

"Oh,  that  meant  that  her  duenna,  Mrs.  Manders, 
would  be  out,  and  she'd  come  to  the  garden  that 
night.  It's  quite  simple." 

It  was. 


CHAPTER  V 

HERBERT  POLKINGTON^S  UNCERTAINTY 

THE  discovery  that  he  had  made  such  a  Com- 
plete fool  of  himself  seemed  to  have  a 
chastening  effect  on  Sir  Marmaduke.  Jack  told 
me  that  now,  when  he  went  to  the  house  to  see 
Muriel,  the  Gutta-percha  One  was  quite  civil  to 
him.  Also  he  seemed  to  have  grown  rather  shy  of 
me  since  I  had  drawn  up  that  marriage  Contract, 
for  he  ceased  pestering  Garth  and  Thurman  with 
his  fussy  letters. 

The  Gardens,  indeed,  were  going  very  nicely  and 
quietly.  It  is  a  great  advantage  that  the  rents  of 
the  houses  are  two  thousand  pounds  a  year,  not 
only  from  the  point  of  view  of  my  income,  but  also 
because  it  means  that  my  tenants  are  desirable. 
Bad  hats  and  swindlers  do  not  run  to  such  high 
rents. 

Indeed,  the  only  tenant  about  whom  I  was  doubt- 
ful was  Scruton;  ever  since  the  good  gum  million- 
aire had  tried  to  get  his  house  rent-free  by  that  in- 

107 


io8  ALICE  DEVINE 

genious  ghost  trick,  I  had  been  expecting  some 
more  games  from  him.  He  really  was  a  millionaire, 
or  thereabouts.  I  had  had  inquiries  made  about 
him,  from  some  of  my  tenants;  and  my  lawyer 
and  Jack  had  thought  it  well  to  have  the  share 
register  at  Somerset  House  looked  up,  and  found 
that  he  was  a  large  shareholder  in  Australian  and 
New  Zealand  securities.  Still,  I  knew  he  was  a 
crooked  millionaire;  and  I  could  not  help  expect- 
ing that  he  would  turn  out  to  be  an  undesirable 
tenant.  I  myself  much  prefer  the  millionaire  who 
has  inherited  his  millions  to  the  millionaire  who  has 
made  them.  He  is  straighter. 

Oddly  enough,  it  was  that  rising  young  politician, 
my  cousin,  Herbert  Polkington,  who  brought  to  my 
knowledge  the  unpleasant  fact  that  Scruton  was  on 
the  way  to  get  Number  9  the  reputation  of  a 
gambling-hell.  Herbert  is  one  of  those  earnest  and 
serious  politicians  who  get  up  on  their  hind-legs  and 
paw  the  air  when  I  tell  them  that  politics  is  only 
a  game,  and  not  so  cheery  a  game  as  racing.  I 
have  often  had  to  tell  Herbert  this  to  check  his 
pouring  out  home-truths  on  me  about  my  useless 
life,  though  lately,  since  I  have  been  acting  as  my 
own  house-agent,  he  has  had  to  stop  that, 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY          109 

Before  I  was  a  house-agent  I  used  to  think  that 
Herbert's  was  a  hard  life.  He  has  made  up  his 
mind  to  be  Prime  Minister;  and  he  must  not  think 
of  anything  else.  He  has  even  to  dress  the  part. 
He  has  to  sit  through  all  those  dreary  debates  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  mug  up  blue-books  by  the 
furlong,  make  speeches  all  over  the  country,  and 
write  long  dismal  articles,  or  let  Freddy  Gage,  his 
secretary,  write  them,  in  the  monthly  reviews.  But 
now  that  I  am  a  house-agent  and  have  work  to  do, 
I  do  not  think  Herbert's  life  so  hard  after  all.  Be- 
sides, he  is  one  of  those  morbid  people  who  like 
work,  especially  the  dull  kind.  If  he  did  not,  he 
wouldn't  do  it;  for  he  has  seven  thousand  a  year, 
and  no  big  place  to  keep  up. 

When  he  turned  up  one  day,  and  said  he  had 
come  to  lunch  with  me,  I  was  rather  surprised. 
Herbert  is  always  very  lofty  with  me,  and  this 
was  condescending  indeed.  I  wondered  what  he 
wanted. 

It  was  a  stifling  hot  day,  but  Herbert  was  the 
correct  politician  in  black  top-hat,  black  morning 
coat,  dark  trousers,  dark  tie  and  dark  gloves.  It 
made  me  feel  hot  to  look  at  him. 

I  thought  that  he  would  bear  unloosening,  so  I 


no  ALICE  DEVINE 

told  Richards  to  give  us  a  bottle  of  1908  Heidsieck; 
and  we  lunched  in  the  summer  dining-room,  which 
faces  north  and  is  cool. 

As  usual  Herbert  was  looking  as  serious  as  a 
gate-post.  He  always  tried  to  look  as  though  he 
was  carrying  the  Empire  about  with  him — it  is  part 
of  the  game.  He  said  nothing,  and  I  had  nothing 
to  say;  and  we  had  finished  our  melon  and  our 
caviare  before  the  conversation  began ;  then  I  said : 

"Do  you  never  wear  summer  clothes — something 
gray?" 

"Never  in  London.  Gray  clothes  give  a  man  an 
air  of  frivolity;  they  do  not  go  with  serious  aims 
in  life.  In  the  country  I  wear  tweeds  of  course, 
but  always  dark  shades.  My  reputation  demands  it," 
he  said  solemnly. 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  have  a  reputation  like  that," 
I  said. 

"I  fear  you  never  will.  It  is,  unfortunately,  too 
late,"  he  said  very  loftily. 

"Saved!  Saved!"  I  said  softly. 

He  looked  pained,  but  did  not  rebuke  me;  so  I 
knew  for  certain  that  he  did  want  something. 

I  seemed  to  have  set  him  going,  for  he  talked 
earnestly  about  the  dress,  and  the  habits,  and  the 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY          in 

customs  of  the  correct  young  politician.  Herbert 
talking  always  makes  me  fidgety.  He  is  so  infer- 
nally long-winded.  He  can  say  more  about  noth- 
ing at  all  than  any  one  I  know.  Also,  he  has  a 
way  of  fixing  his  pale  eyes  on  sorne  point  on  the 
wall  opposite,  and  speaking  as  if  he  had  learned 
what  he  is  saying  by  heart,  painfully.  I  have 
never  heard  him  make  a  speech — it  must  be  awful ! 
Besides,  with  his  pasty,  yellowish  face  he  is  not  a 
pretty  sight;  and  he  does  not  only  look  as  if  he 
had  oiled  his  hair  but  sounds  as  if  he  had  oiled  his 
voice. 

I  let  him  drone  on.  It  is  never  any  use  trying 
to  quicken  him;  he  will  take  the  most  roundabout 
way  to  come  to  what  he  wants.  I  dare  say  he 
thinks  it  diplomatic.  I  went  on  with  my  lunch, 
sparing  the  champagne,  which  I  did  not  like  so 
young,  and  not  paying  any  particular  attention  to 
what  he  was  saying  about  the  respect  due  to  a  man 
of  unswerving  political  sincerity  from  his  fellow- 
creatures. 

Then  he  did  give  me  a  jolt.  He  got  away  from 
the  perfect  young  politician,  began  to  talk  about 
the  perfect  young  politician's  wife,  and  said  the 
important  thing  was  that  she  should  have  brains. 


112  ALICE  DEVINE 

I  looked  at  the  bottle  of  champagne.  It  was 
not  that:  he  had  not  drunk  enough.  Then  I  said: 
"Rot,  old  chap!  The  important  thing  is,  that  she 
should  be  related  to  the  right  kind  of  people  and 
know  how  to  entertain  them  in  the  right  kind  of 
way — or  else  she  must  be  a  woman  with  a  lot  of 
money." 

"No,"  he  said  solemnly.  "What  a  man — a  man 
dealing  with  Imperial  affairs — needs  in  a  wife,  is 
a  stimulating  (companion,  some  one  to  foster  the 
efforts  of  his  genius." 

I  looked  again  at  the  bottle  of  champagne.  It 
was  not  the  quantity — he  had  only  had  a  couple 
of  glasses  of  it.  It  must  be  stronger  than  I  thought. 
Then  I  said: 

"This  is  what  they  call  poppycock  in  the  States. 
If  we  were  out-of-doors,  I  should  say  that  you  were 
talking  through  your  hat."  And  I  felt  a  little  tired. 

"I  am  quite  serious.  These  are  the  conclusions  I 
have  come  to  after  giving  the  matter  my  most  care- 
ful consideration,"  said  Herbert  solemnly;  and  he 
raised  his  glass  and  looked  at  it  as  if  he  were  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  it,  himself  and  everything  else 
in  the  nice  round  world. 

I  was  not  going  to  bother  with  rot  like  this. 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY]         113 

"All  right;  it  doesn't  matter,"  I  said.  "At  any 
rate,  .you're  fixed  up  properly.  You're  going  to 
marry  Anne  Dressington,  and  she  is  related  to  the 
whole  gang  of  the  right  people,  knows  exactly  what 
they  want,  and  has  five  thousand  a  year." 

It  has  been  understood  in  the  family  for  a  long 
while  that  Herbert  is  going  to  marry  our  cousin, 
Lady  Dressington;  and  it  is  one  of  those  comfort- 
able arrangements  which  are  good  for  every  one. 

Herbert  emptied  his  wine-glass  quickly;  and  his 
round  yellow  face  turned  a  little  pink. 

"Not  at  all — not  at  all,"  he  said  quickly. 
"Neither  Anne  nor  I  have  considered  that  seriously. 
But  it  was  about  a  matter  of  that  kind  I  came  to 
consult  you.  In  spite  of  the  frivolous  life  you  lead, 
you  have  a  certain  amount  of  common  sense." 

"Flatterer!"  said  I. 

"Besides,  in  matters  of  this  kind  you  have  had  a 
good  deal  of  experience." 

"What  kind  of  matters  ?"  said  I. 

"Women.    You  know  all  about  them." 

"You  don't  know  anything  about  them,  or  you 
wouldn't  say  anything  so  silly,"  I  said  firmly. 

"Oh,  yes;  you  do!"  he  said  obstinately.  "Look 
at  all  the  messes  you've  been  in !" 


ii4  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Messes?  What  a  way  to  speak  of  grand 
passions!  But  never  mind.  What  is  it  you  want 
to  know?" 

"Well,  I'm  very  much  interested  in  a  lady — a 
very  pretty  girl,"  he  said,  in  a  hesitating  way.  "I 
met  her  at  the  house  of  one  of  your  tenants — at 
Scruton's,  the  millionaire  at  Number  9 — a  very  able 
man." 

"Very  able,"  I  said,  as  I  thought  of  how  the  old 
sweep  had  tricked  my  uncle  out  of  a  quarter's  rent 
by  his  ghost,  and  very  nearly  tricked  me.  Then 
my  heart  gave  a  little  jump;  and  I  felt  annoyed. 
Herbert  had  been  making  love  to  the  ghost-girl 
herself.  I  had  no  reason  to  feel  annoyed,  of  course. 
It  had  nothing  to  do  with  me.  Whatever  a  girl 
who  had  lent  herself  to  such  a  shady  trick  as  that 
might  do,  it  could  not  possibly  matter  to  me.  Still, 
Herbert  .  .  .  Herbert  is  such  a  rotter. 

"But  I'm  rather  uneasy  about  the  circumstances 
— the — environment,"  went  on  he.  "Two  or  three 
times  a  week  Scruton  has  a  party  after  the  theater 
— a  man's  party.  They  play  baccarat,  and  they 
play  very  high.  I  was  taken  to  one  of  these  parties, 
and  I  met  her  there.  And  I  have  been  again — sev- 
eral times.  And  the  play  is  always  very  high.  I — 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY         115 

I  have  found  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  sus- 
picious." 

Here  it  was  as  large  as  life.  I  had  been  expect- 
ing some  little  game  from  Scruton ;  and  here  it  was. 

"Look  here,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  in- 
fernal New  Zealander  is  running  a  gambling-hell 
in  Garthoyle  Gardens?"  I  said. 

"No,  no.  I  don't  say  that.  I've  no  right  to.  My 
suspicions  are  quite  vague — hardly  suspicions.  Be- 
sides, a  millionaire  wouldn't  run  a  gambling-hell, 
would  he?"  he  said  quickly. 

"You  know  very  well  a  millionaire  would.  It's 
just  the  profitable  amusement  a  millionaire  would 
love.  You  know  the  sweeps,"  I  said.  "How  much 
have  you  lost?" 

"About  three  hundred.  But  of  Bourse  I  don't 
mind  that." 

"Of  course  you  don't!  You  go  to  see  the  girl, 
and  that  is  the  price  you  pay  for  it.  I  should  never 
have  accused  you  of  being  young,  but  you're  a  deal 
younger  than  I  ever  dreamt." 

"You've  no  right  to  jump  to  conclusions  in  such 
a  hurry,  I  tell  you.  It  may  be  all  my  fancy." 

"Fancy  or  not,  I  can  give  you  the  advice  you 
want  at  once,"  I  said.  "You  keep  away  from 


n6  ALICE  DEVINE 

Number  9,  or  you'll  get  into  a  most  unholy  mess, 
and  England  will  lose  a  choice  Prime  Minister." 

"No,  no.  That  isn't  it  at  all.  It  isn't  your  advice 
I  want.  I  want  the  benefit  of  your  experience.  I 
want  you  to  come  to  one  of  Scruton's  parties  so 
that  you  may  see  for  yourself  and  tell  me  if  there 
is  anything  wrong.  There's  no  need  for  any  invita- 
tion. I  can  take  you  without." 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  said.  "Outside  is  good  enough 
for  me." 

I  did  not  want  to  see  any  more  of  the  ghost-girl. 
I  had  a  feeling  that  that  way  lay  the  mess  of  a  life- 
time. Besides,  it  would  be  rather  awkward:  she 
knew  me  under  the  name  of  Garth,  and  she  might 
be  annoyed  to  find  that  I  had  not  told  her  my  right 
name  when  we  talked  about  the  Ponderbury  hiero- 
glyphics. 

But  Herbert  would  not  take  the  refusal.  He 
went  on  pestering  and  pestering  me  to  give  him  the 
benefit  of  my  experience,  and  declaring  and  declar- 
ing that  I  could  not  do  it  properly  till  I  had  looked 
into  the  matter  for  myself.  Also,  I  felt  that  I  ought 
to  prevent  him  getting  into  a  hole  if  I  could — after 
all,  though  it  is  not  my  fault,  he  is  my  cousin — and 
in  the  end  I  gave  way.  But  I  would  not  dine  with 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY         117 

him  on  Thursday.  It  was  bad  enough  to  be  let  in 
for  a  business  I  did  not  fancy  without  being  bored 
to  death  by  Herbert.  He  arranged  to  call  for  me  at 
eleven  the  next  Thursday  night. 

After  he  had  gone,  I  grew  even  more  annoyed 
about  the  business ;  and  yet  it  really  did  not  matter  to 
me  whether  the  ghost-girl  married  Herbert  or  not. 

When  he  called  for  me  I  was  ready  for  him,  with 
two  hundred  in  fivers  in  my  pocket.  I  did  not  mean 
to  plunge.  We  strolled  round  to  Number  9,  and 
were  taken  up  to  a  room  on  the  first  floor.  A  long 
table  covered  with  a  green  cloth  was  set  under  two 
of  the  windows  in  the  cool,  and  a  dozen  men  were 
playing  at  it.  Scruton,  as  black-faced  and  hard- 
bitten as  ever,  stood  on  the  hearth-rug  talking  to  a 
man  I  did  not  know.  Three  or  four  men  were  clus- 
tered round  two  girls  who  were  sitting  on  a  couch 
on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  room;  and  all  of  them 
were  talking  cheerfully.  One  of  the  girls  was  Alice 
Devine;  and  at  the  sight  of  me  her  eyes  opened 
wide  and  she  flushed. 

Scruton  did  not  show  the  slightest  embarrassment 
at  the  sight  of  me.  He  greeted  me  easily,  and  said 
he  was  very  glad  I  had  come  round  for  a  game.  It 
was  clear  that  to  him  his  little  attempt  to  trick  me 


u8  ALICE  DEVINE 

out  of  his  rent  was  neither  here  nor  there — just  a 
sort  of  diversion. 

The  panting  Herbert  drew  me  across  the  room 
to  the  couch  on  which  the  two  girls  were  sitting. 
I  shook  hands  with  Alice  quickly,  before  he  could 
introduce  me  as  Garthoyle.  Then  I  greeted  three 
of  the  men  in  the  group  round  the  girls,  heartily 
stretching  the  greetings  out,  for  I  knew  that  all  of 
them  would  call  me  Garth. 

It  was  no  use;  Herbert  would  not  have  it.  He 
seized  me  by  the  arm,  turned  me  round  and  bawled : 
"Let  me  introduce  you  to  Miss  Maynard.  Lord 
Garthoyle — Miss  Maynard." 

I  did  not  miss  the  ghost-girl's  little  start  when  she 
heard  my  real  name;  and  out  of  the  corner  of  my: 
eye  I  saw  a  little  frown  on  her  forehead  as  she 
stared  at  me. 

I  looked  as  innocent  as  I  could  and  began  to  talk 
to  Miss  Maynard  quickly.  In  two  minutes  I  found 
that  she  was  all  right  to  talk  to,  very  bright  and 
quick,  and  ready  to  laugh.  She  was  a  pretty  girl, 
too,  with  very  fine  dark  eyes,  and  dark  hair,  and  a 
very  clear  skin  with  plenty  of  color  in  it.  I  fancied, 
too,  that  she  had  one  of  those  quick  hot  tempers; 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY         119 

that  she  could  flare  up  quickly  on  occasion,  but  that 
she  would  not  sulk. 

In  five  minutes  we  were  quite  friendly;  and  when 
the  other  men  moved  to  the  baccarat-table,  I  stayed 
on  talking  to  her,  letting  Herbert  talk  to  the  ghost- 
girl. 

.They  did  not  seem  to  be  getting  on  very  fast,  and 
then  he  said  in  a  disagreeable  tone :  "Wouldn't  you 
like  to  go  and  play  baccarat,  Garthoyle?" 

I  tumbled  to  it  at  once.  It  was  not  the  ghost-girl 
who  had  captured  Herbert's  wayward  heart :  it  was 
Miss  Maynard.  I  felt  ridiculously  pleased.  But 
what  on  earth  did  it  matter  to  me? 

"Conversation  before  cards  for  me,  Herbert,"  I 
said  coldly;  and  I  went  on  talking  to  Miss  Maynard. 

She  seemed  all  right,  she  looked  a  nice  girl,  and 
she  talked  like  a  nice  girl.  But  you  never  can  tell; 
and  the  Directoire  frocks  of  the  two  girls  were  about 
as  direct  as  they  make  them.  I  was  really  annoyed 
by  the  one  the  ghost-girl  was  wearing. 

I  went  on  talking  till  I  felt  that  Herbert  was 
champing  the  bit  badly.  When  I  grew  afraid  that 
at  any  moment  he  might  snort,  I  said : 

"Well,  I'll  go  and  flutter  for  a  while." 

I  sat  down  on  the  farther  side  of  the  table  so  that 


120  ALICE  DEVINE 

I  could  watch  Herbert  and  Miss  Maynard,  and  as  I 
played  I  began  to  size  up  the  gathering".  It  seemed 
harmless  enough.  Morrisdale  was  banker — a  fifty- 
pound  bank — men  were  staking  fivers  and  tenners. 
I  knew  most  of  the  men  playing;  half  a  dozen  of 
them  were  serious  gamblers,  the  others  were  young 
ones  on  the  racket.  I  did  not  think  that  the  game 
would  stay  so  gentle  as  this  all  the  evening.  As  I 
played  I  watched  the  ghost-girl  and  Miss  Maynard. 
I  did  wish  those  Directoire  frocks  were  not  so  con- 
foundedly direct. 

Miss  Maynard  was  talking  away  to  the  solemn 
Herbert,  and  he  was  talking  to  her.  But  presently 
I  grasped  the  fact  that  she  kept  looking  toward  the 
door.  Three  more  men  came  in,  one  of  them  that 
hulking  brute,  Sir  Theobald  Walsh.  They  came  to 
the  table.  Miss  Maynard  still  kept  looking  at  the 
door.  Then  in  came  Freddy  Gage,  Herbert's  pri- 
vate secretary.  I  saw*  the  look  he  and  Miss  May- 
nard exchanged,  and  I  knew  whom  she  had  been 
looking  for. 

Freddy  had  been  one  of  my  fags  at  Eton,  and  I 
had  always  liked  him.  I  have  always  believed  that 
he  wrote  Herbert's  speeches  and  articles  for  him. 
To  speak  roughly,  he  has  four  times  as  many  brains 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY          121 

in  his  little  finger  as  Herbert  has  in  his  capacious 
bullet  head.  He  went  to  Herbert  and  the  two  girls 
and  began  to  talk.  I  went  on  with  my  game,  con- 
sidering things.  It  was  all  very  well,  but  however 
much  she  might  look  for  his  coming,  I  did  not  think 
that  when  it  came  to  serious  business,  Freddy,  with 
his  brains  and  five  hundred  a  year,  besides  his  sal- 
ary, stood  much  chance  against  Herbert  with  his 
seven  thousand.  Several  times  I  caught  the  ghost- 
girl's  eye ;  she  was  looking  at  me  in  a  puzzled  kind 
of  way.  Evidently  she  had  not  yet  grown  used  to 
my  not  being  a  simple  commoner;  she  was  rear- 
ranging things. 

Then  Otto  Steiner  and  the  piebald  duke  went  to 
the  couch  and  began  to  talk  to  the  ghost-girl.  Freddy 
Gage  seemed  to  do  a  little  readjusting,  for  in  about 
two  minutes  he  carried  off  Miss  Maynard  through 
the  window  on  to  the  balcony;  and  Herbert  came 
across  to  the  table,  looking  rather  puzzled,  and  began 
to  play. 

The  piebald  duke  went  on  talking  to  the  ghost- 
girl;  but  his  eyes  kept  straying  to  the  table.  Then 
he  came  to  it.  At  once  Walsh  rose  and  went  to  the 
ghost-girl,  pulled  a  chair  up  to  the  couch,  and,  lean- 
ing over  her  in  a  proprietary  sort  of  way,  began  to 


122  ALICE  DEVINE 

talk  in  her  ear.  I  was  annoyed.  Walsh  is  not  the 
kind  of  man  whom  one  likes  to  see  within  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  of  a  decent  girl. 

Steiner  took  the  bank  and  made  it  a  three-hundred 
bank.  Miss  Maynard  and  Freddy  Gage  came  back 
into  the  room  looking  very  pleased  with  themselves, 
and,  coming  to  the  table,  watched  the  play.  It  was 
higher,  men  were  betting  twenties  and  fifties.  Then 
I  saw  the  ghost-girl  was  sittng  up  very  stiffly  and 
frowning,  and  her  eyes  were  sparkling  angrily. 
Walsh  was  smiling  in  an  ugly  way. 

I  got  up  and  went  across  to  them. 

"You  look  as  if  you  found  the  heat  of  the  room 
rather  trying,  Miss  Devine.  Won't  you  come  out  on 
the  balcony  and  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air?"  I  said. 

Walsh  scowled  at  me  and  said  something  about 
her  being  very  well  where  she  was. 

She  rose  quickly  and  said:  "Oh,  yes;  I  should 
like  to." 

"Disagreeable  brute,  Walsh,"  I  said,  when  we 
had  settled  down  into'  two  easy  chairs  among  the 
plants. 

"I — I  don't  like  him.  I'm  very  glad  you  took  me 
away  from  him,"  she  said  in  a  hesitating  way. 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY         123 

"Go  on  disliking  him — hard,"  I  said.  "You  know 
what  these  baronets  are.  They  shouldn't  be  encour- 
aged. Whenever  you  come  across  a  baronet,  sit  on 
him." 

She  laughed  softly;  then  she  said: 

"It's  all  very  well;  but  what  if  they  won't  be  sat 
on?" 

"Walsh  is  a  pertinacious  beggar,"  I  said.  "But 
keep  on  sitting  on  him,  and  in  time  he'll  understand 
what's  happening." 

"I  do  what  I  can,"  she  said.  "But  he  doesn't 
seem  to  understand  yet." 

"Never  mind;  keep  on.  It's  the  only  way,"  I 
said. 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  looked  across 
the  gardens.  Then  she  looked  at  me  and  said  rather 
quickly : 

"Why  did  you  give  me  a  false  name?  It  wasn't 
'fair." 

"Oh,  all  my  friends  call  me  Garth,  don't  you 
know.  And  it  might  have  made  those  children  un- 
comfortable to  know  that  they  were  with  a  lord. 
I've  known  it  work  that  way  with  people ;  goodness 
knows  why.  Besides,  peers  have  such  a  bad  name. 


124  ALICE  DEVINE 

You  might  have  got  straight  out  of  the  car  and  run 
for  your  life,  if  you  had  known  that  I  was  a  peer." 

"Are  you  ever  at  a  loss  for  an  excuse?"  she  said, 
smiling. 

"No — now  you  come  to  speak  of  it,  I  don't  think 
I  ever  am.  But  these  aren't  excuses,  they're  good 
solid  reasons.'* 

"Still,  you  might  have  told  me  when  we  were 
talking  about  those  hieroglyphics." 

"Yes;  of  course  I  might.  But  why  should  I? 
Besides,  it  was  a  bit  difficult.  I  couldn't  say:  'By 
the  way,  my  real  name  is  Lord  Garthoyle,' 
could  I?" 

"Perhaps  not.     But  I  like  things  above  board." 

I  could  not  see  exactly  how  that  liking  went  with 
the  ghost  trick.  But  there,  women  are  like  that; 
they  must  humbug. 

"I  haven't  thanked  you  for  getting  that  check  for 
me,"  she  said.  "I'm  awfully  obliged  to  you." 

"There's  no  need  to  be.  You  could  have  got  it 
yourself.  I  was  very  glad  to  save  you  a  little 
trouble." 

"Oh,  I  should  have  made  a  dreadful  mess  of 
things,"  she  said  quickly. 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY         125 

"Roughened  the  path  of  true  love?  I  don't  think 
you  would.  Have  you  spent  it  all  ?" 

"Indeed  no,  it  will  last  ever  such  a  long  time. 
Why,  there  are  more  than  a  hundred  treats — expe- 
ditions to  Kew  or  to  the  country — in  that  money. 
I'm  keeping  it  for  it.  It's  splendid  to  have  a  lot  of 
money  like  that." 

It  was  an  odd  way  for  the  niece  of  a  millionaire 
to  talk,  especially  since  she  was  living  with  him. 
But  I  was  not  surprised  by  it.  Except  when  they 
are  showing  off,  millionaires  are  stingy  sweeps ;  and 
I  did  not  suppose  that  Scruton  was  any  exception 
to  the  rule. 

I  bethought  myself  that  I  was  there  on  Herbert's 
business ;  and  I  set  her  talking  about  Miss  Maynard. 
She  did  not  want  any  encouragement 

"Oh,  Kitty's  a  darling,"  she  said.  "I  don't  know 
what  I  should  do  without  Kitty."  And  she  plunged 
into  praises  of  her. 

I  learned  that  Miss  Maynard's  mother  was  a 
widow,  and  they  were  very  hard  up ;  that  Miss  May- 
nard was  very  keen  on  amusing  herself,  and  always 
came  to  Scruton's  parties.  He  had  told  Alice  that 
she  should  invite  her  to  help  her  entertain  his  guests. 


126  ALICE  DEVINE 

Of  course,  there  was  no  need  to  have  a  hostess  at 
such  parties;  and  it  was  clearer  than  ever  that  the 
two  girls  were  used  as  decoys.  It  was  no  business 
of  mine;  but  it  vexed  me.  I  said  nothing  about  it; 
I  let  the  ghost-girl  go  on  talking.  And  I  gathered 
that  though  Miss  Maynard  was  a  nice  enough  girl, 
and  uncommonly  clever,  she  was  a  bit  on  the  wild 
side,  and  dead  set  on  having  a  good  time.  I  could 
not  see  her  the  wife  of  a  serious,  not  to  say  dull, 
politician  like  Herbert.  It  would  work  well  enough 
perhaps  if  Herbert  were  merely  a  fool;  but  he  is 
such  an  obstinate  fool.  A  mild  brand  of  wife  who 
liked  being  bullied,  like  Anne  Dressington,  was  what 
he  wanted.  He  was  just  the  kind  of  man  to  come 
badly  to  grief  with  a  clever  wild  one  like  Miss 
Maynard.  Herbert  was  in  a  hole. 

The  ghost-girl  presently  stopped  talking  about 
Kitty  Maynard,  and  I  said:  "You  say  Miss  May- 
nard is  hard  up,  but  that  dress  she's  wearing  doesn't 
look  like  hard-upness." 

Alice  looked  at  me  rather  hard,  and  she  flushed. 

"Oh,  these  dresses,"  she  said  slowly,  in  a  dis- 
tressed voice:  "It's  my  uncle.  He  arranges  about 
our  dresses — not  only  mine,  but  Kitty's,  too.  He 
says  it's  only  fair  that  since  she  helps  me  act  as 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY          127 

Hostess,  he  should  provide  the  proprieties.  And — • 
and  he  will  have  them  like  this.  I — I  hate  them." 

"They're  very  nice  dresses,"  I  said  cheerfully. 
"What's  the  matter  with  them?" 

"Oh,  you  know  quite  well  what's  the  matter  with 
them !"  she  flashed  out  with  a  sudden  brust  of  tem- 
per. Then  she  gave  a  little  gasp  and  said :  "But — • 
but  why  am  I  talking  to  you  like  this  ?  I — I  scarcely 
know  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  You  know  all  there  is  to  know. 
And  why  shouldn't  you  talk  freely  to  me?  I'm 
quite  safe.  And  I  like  it.  It's  a  great  compliment," 
I  said  quickly. 

"I  dare  say  it  is.    But   .    .    ." 

She  stopped  short,  rose,  and  we  went  back  into 
the  room. 

Two  or  three  men  were  talking  to  Kitty  Maynard ; 
and  Alice  went  back  to  the  couch  and  sat  down  on 
it.  I  saw  that  for  the  moment  she  had  had  enough 
of  me,  and  I  went  back  to  the  table  and  played.  As 
I  played  I  wondered  about  her — baccarat  is  a  nice 
easy  game  to  play;  it  gives  you  plenty  of  time  to 
think.  She  did  seem  contradictory;  somehow  that 
ghost  trick  did  not  fit  in  with  the  rest  of  her.  Once 
or  twice  I  caught  her  glowering  at  me  as  if  she  were 


'128  ALICE  DEVINE 

still  angry  with  me  for  telling  me  her  feelings  about 
that  Directoire  frock.  It  was  awfully  like  a  woman 
to  blame  me  for  what  she  had  said. 

The  play  was  serious  now — a  thousand-pound 
bank.  As  I  punted  I  watched  very  carefully;  but  I 
saw  nothing  wrong.  Indeed,  with  such  seasoned 
gamblers  as  Tony  Le  Quesne,  Steiner  and  two  or 
three  of  the  other  men  who  were  playing  at  the 
table,  it  would  have  been  very  difficult  for  there  to 
be  anything  wrong.  I  watched  Scruton  with  par- 
ticular care  when  he  took  the  bank.  He  seemed  far 
too  clumsy  a  dealer  to  play  any  tricks  with  the  cards. 
Besides,  he  lost  about  seven  hundred  over  his  bank. 

Men  kept  dropping  out  and  talking  to  the  girls 
for  a  while  and  coming  back  again.  They  talked  to 
them  with  too  easy  an  air  to  please  me.  But  it 
was  no  business  of  mine.  Scruton  undoubtedly  used 
the  two  girls  to  attract  men  to  his  parties. 

I  dropped  out  myself  and  had  another  talk  with 
Miss  Maynard ;  and  it  made  me  surer  than  ever  that 
she  would  never  do  for  Herbert.  Soon  after  two, 
the  two  girls  slipped  away;  and  then  Herbert  went, 
and  then  Gage,  and  Walsh,  and  two  or  three  others. 
I  took  it  that  these  came  chiefly  on  account  of  the 
two  girls;  and  I  was  annoyed  to  see  that  Walsh 


HERBERT'S  UNCERTAINTY          129 

was  one  of  them.    The  rest  of  us  broke  up  at  about 
a  quarter  past  four. 

I  walked  home  rather  slowly;  one  way  and  an- 
other I  had  plenty  to  think  of.  Well,  I  had  had  a 
pleasant  evening. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  RESCUE   OF    HERBERT    POLKINGTON 

I     WAS  finishing  my  breakfast  rather  late  next 
morning,  when  Richards  ushered  in  Herbert. 
He  said  "Good  morning";  and  I  told  Richards  to 
pour  him  out  a  cup  of  coffee.    He  poured  it  out  and 
went  out  of  the  room. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  about  Miss  Maynard?" 
said  Herbert. 

"I  think,  my  good  chap,  that  outside  is  good 
enough  for  you,"  said  I. 

"Nonsense!  Why?"  said  Herbert.  "She's  a 
thoroughly  nice  girl,  and  very  clever." 

"She's  clever  and  pretty  and  nice.  But  all  the 
same  it  won't  do.  You  can't  marry  a  girl  who  is 
acting  as  decoy  at  the  gambling  parties  of  a  nonde- 
script millionaire." 

"She  isn't!"  said  Herbert 

"I  don't  think  she  knows  she  is,  any  more  than 
Miss  Devine  does.  But  that's  what  they  are  doing 
all  the  time." 

130 


THE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT         131 

"But  it's  absurd!"  cried  Herbert.  "Scruton's  is 
not  a  gambling-hell ;  the  play's  perfectly  fair  there. 
I  asked  Le  Quesne,  and  I  asked  the  duke.  They 
were  both  sure  that  it  was." 

"Were  they?"  I  said.  "What  does  that  matter? 
The  play  is  quite  fair  at  Monte  Carlo.  Every  one 
will  be  saying  that  Miss  Maynard  was  a  decoy  at  a 
gambling-hell,  if  you  bring  her  into  prominence  by 
marrying  her.  And  you  will  bring  her  into  promi- 
nence. You're  so  eligible." 

"Well — well — they'll  say  something  just  as  bad 
about  any  one  I  marry." 

"Not  about  Anne." 

"I  wish  you'd  get  that  silly  idea  out  of  your  head. 
I'm  not  going  to  marry  Anne,"  said  Herbert  pet- 
tishly. 

I  was  sure  that  he  was;  but  it  was  no  use  telling 
him  so. 

"It  isn't  only  that,  but  Miss  Maynard  wouldn't 
make  the  kind  of  wife  you  want.  She's  had  a  poor 
time ;  and  if  she  marries  a  rich  man,  she'll  make  up 
for  it — hard.  She'll  set  up  the  backs  of  all  your 
political  crowd ;  and  she'll  never  take  the  trouble  to 
learn  the  political  game — the  drawng-room  part  of 
it.  She  won't  be  bothered  with  it,"  I  said. 


132  ALICE  DEVINE 

"You're  wrong — quite  wrong.  I  know  that  Kitty 
is  fond  of  pleasure.  She  admits  it — frankly.  But 
she  has  a  plastic  nature;  I  should  mold  her." 

I  looked  at  Herbert  hard.  The  idiot  who  could 
say  that  about  Miss  Maynard  was  worth  looking  at. 

"You  couldn't  mold  her  in  a  hundred  years — not 
with  a  club,"  I  said  slowly.  "If  there's  any  molding 
done,  she'll  do  it.  Within  six  months  of  your  mar- 
riage she'll  have  you  a  regular  attendant  at  every 
big  race-meeting  in  England." 

"Preposterous!"  said  Herbert. 

"I'll  bet  you  a  tenner,"  I  said. 

"You  know  I  never  bet,"  said  Herbert. 

"No,  you  don't;  and  yet  you  propose  to  marry 
Miss  Maynard." 

"I  don't  see  the  connection,"  said  Herbert  stiffly. 

"Which  shows  you  have  no  business  to  be  marry- 
ing Miss  Maynard." 

"But  I  do  see  that  I  was  foolish  ito  consult  you. 
The  fact  is,  Rupert,  you  are  so  incorrigibly  frivolous 
yourself  that  you  are  incredulous  of  the  possibility 
of  seriousness  in  any  one  else,"  he  said  pompously. 

"It  isn't  that  at  all,"  I  said.  "But  there  are  some 
brands  of  seriousness  that  won't  mix.  Yours  is 
one  of  them." 


THE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT         133 

Herbert  rose  solemnly  and  said:  "I  see  that  I 
was  foolish  to  consult  you.  I  had  my  doubts,  grave 
doubts,  of  the  wisdom  of  it  Good  morning."  And 
he  stalked  toward  the  door. 

''Good  morning,"  I  said.  "But  don't  forget  that 
I've  told  you." 

He  went  out  solemnly. 

I  had  done  no  good ;  but  that  did  not  trouble  me. 
I  had  not  expected  to  do  any  good.  The  important 
thing  was  that  I  had  told  Herbert  the  facts,  and  my 
mind  was  quite  at  ease. 

I  went  round  to  Scruton's  next  party — he  gave 
them  twice  a  week — for  I  felt  that  as  the  head  of  the 
family  I  ought  to  keep  an  eye  on  Herbert's  love- 
affair,  and  besides  I  wanted  to  know  if  the  ghost- 
girl  had  forgiven  me  for  having  been  so  open  with 
me. 

I  talked  to  her  two  or  three  times  in  the  intervals 
of  playing;  but  she  would  not  come  on  the  balcony 
again.  Perhaps  she  felt  that  it  led  to  confidences. 
I  talked  to  her  about  Kitty  Maynard,  of  course,  for 
I  wanted  to  know  as  much  as  possible  about  her; 
and  once  more  she  said  what  a  pity  it  was  that  the 
Maynards  were  so  hard  up. 


I34  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Well,  Miss  Maynard  must  marry  a  rich  man," 
I  said. 

"She  says  she  means  to.  But  I  do  hope  she  won't 
It  isn't  right  to  marry  a  man — you  don't  love,"  she 
said  in  a  very  genuine  tone. 

"It's  often  done,"  I  said.  "And  Freddy  Gage 
would  be  awfully  cut  up." 

"You've  noticed  that  ?    You  are  quick !" 

"It's  pretty  obvious,"  I  said. 

"It  would  be  so  much  the  best  thing  to  do.  He's 
very  nice.  But  I'm  afraid  he  hasn't  enough  money," 
she  said  with  a  sigh. 

Some  one  joined  us ;  and  I  got  no  more  talk  with 
her  that  evening. 

After  that  I  fell  into  the  way  of  going  to  Scru- 
ton's  parties  regularly.  I  had  to  keep  an  eye  on 
Herbert.  His  love-affair  was  going  on  in  a  very 
satisfactory  way,  for  him;  and  he  was  wearing  his 
most  important  air.  Freddy  Gage  was  the  only  man 
who  gave  him  any  trouble.  It  lay  between  them 
plainly  enough.  The  more  I  saw  of  Miss  Maynard 
the  less  reason  I  found  to  change  my  belief  that 
Herbert  would  come  the  complete  cropper. 

One  night  he  and  I  came  away  together. 

"I  have  quite  satisfied  myself  that  you  were  en- 


LTHE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT         135 

tirely  wrong  about  Miss  Maynard,"  he  said  pom- 
pously. "She  has  a  thoroughly  adaptable  nature. 
At  heart  she  is  a  very  serious  girl." 

"We'll  talk  about  that  later,"  I  said.  "When  you 
have  been  married  six  month's." 

"But  I  must  get  rid  of  Gage,"  he  went  on,  without 
taking  any  notice  of  my  kind  words.  "He  encour- 
ages her  in  her  frivolity.  The  worst  of  it  is,  if  I  do, 
he'll  go  to  Ambledon.  Ambledon  has  been  trying  to 
get  him  from  me  for  the  last  six  months." 

"Very  good  man,  Freddy  Gage,"  I  said.  And 
we  went  our  different  ways. 

Three  days  later  I  received  a  note  from  Herbert 
telling  me  that  he  was  engaged  to  Miss  Maynard, 
and  that  their  engagement  would  be  publicly  an- 
nounced in  about  a  fortnight,  when  he  had  broken 
in  his  people  to  the  idea. 

I  did  not  write  to  congratulate  him.  I  was  silent, 
as  a  disapproving  head  of  the  family  ought  to  be. 
He  should  never  say  he  had  had  any  encouragement 
from  me. 

At  Scruton's  next  party  I  again  found  Kitty 
Maynard,  and  I  was  a  good  deal  surprised.  I  had 
taken  it  for  granted  that  that  would  be  the  first 
thing  Herbert  would  stop.  It  looked  as  if  she  had 


136  ALICE  DEVINE 

already  begun  refusing  to  be  molded.  She  was 
rather  nervous  and  she  looked  worried.  Freddy 
Gage  looked  worried,  too;  and  Herbert  was  not 
beaming.  I  talked  to  Kitty  Maynard  a  while;  I 
played  baccarat,  and  then  I  got  Alice  to  come  out 
on  the  balcony  to  get  away  from  Sir  Theobald 
Walsh. 

For  a  while  we  talked  about  nothing  at  all,  pleas- 
antly, then  I  said :  "My  cousin  and  Miss  Maynard 
don't  look  as  if  they  were  enjoying  being  engaged 
What's  the  matter?" 

"You  do  ask  straightforward  questions," 

"Well,  I  must  do  my  best  to  smooth  the  path  of 
true  love." 

"True  love,"  said  the  ghost-girl  softly.  "Yes, 
one  would  have  to  do  that.  But — but — oh,  well, 
Kitty  isn't  happy.  I  think  your  cousin  wearies  her 
a  little." 

"Herbert  would  weary  a  turbine  if  he  got  a  fair 
chance  at  it,"  I  said. 

"And  he's  rather  exacting.  He  forbade  her  to 
come  here,  but  she  would.  She  said  she  wasn't 
going  to  desert  me ;  and  he  was  angry." 

"Herbert  is  a  fool ;  but  she  must  know  that 
really  worried  about  Freddy  Gage,  I  suppose?" 


THE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT         137 

"I've  no  right  to  talk  about  it,"  she  said  quickly. 

"No  more  have  I,  but  we  mustn't  let  that  prevent 
us,"  I  said.  "It's  a  case  of  three  in  a  hole.  Now, 
if  I  were  to  haul  Herbert  out  by  the  scruff  of  the 
neck,  the  other  two  would  be  happy  enough.  I 
should  like  to  do  a  little  rescue  work." 

"If  you  only  could !  But  you  can't !  Your  cousin 
is  very  obstinate.  It — it  distresses  me  to  think  of 
their  marriage.  I  can  only  see  unhappiness  for 
Kitty — for  both  of  them — in  it." 

"That's  all  there  is  to  see." 

"Oh,  why  doesn't  he  carry  her  off  by  force  and 
marry  her?"  she  cried. 

"Herbert's  other  name  is  not  Lochinvar.  Besides, 
she  wouldn't  let  him,"  I  said  rather  densely. 

"I  mean  Mr.  Gage,  not  Mr.  Polkington." 

"Oh!    She'd  let  him,  would  she?"  I  said. 

"I  oughtn't  to  have  let  you  know,"  she  said 
quickly. 

But  she  had  let  me  know,  and  it  set  me  thinking, 
in  fact,  gave  me  an  idea. 

At  Scruton's  next  two  parties,  things  did  not 
seem  to  be  getting  any  better.  I  saw  from  Herbert's 
sulky  face  that  the  molding  process  was  not  working 
well,  but  he  was  very  snappish  when  I  told  him  how 


i38  ALICE  DEVINE 

it  struck  me.  On  the  fourth  evening  before  the 
announcement  of  the  engagement,  I  came  on  Freddy 
and  Miss  Maynard  in  the  central  garden.  Neither 
of  them  had  any  right  to  be  in  it,  since  they  did  not 
belong  to  the  families  of  any  of  my  tenants.  They 
seemed  to  be  quarreling,  and  not  enjoying  the  quar- 
rel. She  went  off  to  see  the  ghost-girl,  and  I  in- 
sisted that  Freddy  should  dine  with  me. 

He  was  very  like  a  funeral,  and  the  champagne 
was  some  time  ironing  the  frown  out  of  his  boyish 
brow. 

Then  I  said:  "I  think  it's  a  jolly  shame  your 
letting  that  poor  girl  come  to  grief  by  marrying 
that  prig  Herbert." 

His  face  went  crimson,  and  I  thought  he  would 
throw  his  plate  at  me. 

"Damn  it  all,  Garthoyle!  I've  enough  to  worry 
me  without  you  starting  to  nag  at  me !"  he  said. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  stop  it?"  I  said. 

"Stop  it !  How  can  I  stop  it?  Haven't  I  tried  to 
stop  it?  Haven't  I  told  her  forty  times  what  an 
aggravating  rotter  Polkington  is  ?  Haven't  I  argued 
with  her,  and  begged  and  begged  her  not  to  ruin  her 
li  f e  by  marrying  him  ?  Don't  I  know  him  ?  Haven't 
I  had  two  years  of  him?" 


THE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT        139 

"You  have,"  said  I. 

"She  couldn't  stand  him;  she's  not  the  kind  of 
girl." 

"She  isn't,"  said  I. 

"But  she's  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  a  rich  man, 
and  nothing  will  stop  her.  She's  sick  to  death  of 
being  hard  up.  It's  hopeless." 

"It  may  be.  But  you've  got  to  stop  it.  You  must 
be  firm,"  I  said. 

If  I  had  been  within  reach,  I  think  he  would  have 
bitten  a  piece  out  of  me. 

"Firm!"  he  howled.    "Firm!" 

"Firm,"  said  I. 

He  choked  a  little  and  called  me  a  damned  inter- 
fering idot. 

He  seemed  nicely  wound  up,  and  I  said :  "Look 
here,  did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  of  young  Loch- 
invar?  And  have  you  ever  thought  what  motor- 
cars are  really  for?  And  what  about  special  mar- 
riage licenses?" 

He  cooled  uncommonly  quickly,  drank  off  his 
glass  of  champagne,  and  said  softly:  "By  jove!" 

"Now,  we  know  that  motor-cars  are  always  ap- 
pearing in  the  Divorce  Court,  but  no  one  ever  uses 
them  pour  le  bon  motif — when  their  intentions  are 


140  ALICE  DEVINE 

honorable.  Is  it  fair  on  the  motor-car,  I  ask  you  ?" 
said  I. 

"Fire  away,"  said  Freddy. 

I  told  him  of  my  plan  for  rescuing  Herbert,  and 
he  was  quick  tumbling  to  it. 

When  I  had  told  him  all  the  details,  he  said: 
"The  awkward  thing  is,  I  can't  drive  a  car." 

"You  politicians!"  said  I.  "But  I'm  not  going 
to  do  the  thing  by  half.  Herbert  must  be  rescued. 
I'll  drive  the  car  myself." 

"By  jove,  if  you  would !"  he  said.  "But  are  you 
sure  37ou  can  stick  it  out?  There'll  be  an  awful  fuss. 
You  won't  soften?" 

"Not  a  soften,"  said  I. 

He  had  grown  quite  cheerful  by  the  time  we  had 
worked  out  all  the  arrangements ;  and  when  he  went 
away  I  had  almost  to  throw  him  out  of  the  house 
to  stop  his  thanks. 

Two  days  later  I  picked  up  Miss  Maynard  and 
Freddy  at  her  mother's  flat  in  West  Kensington. 
She  was  looking  delightfully  pretty;  there  was  not 
a  shadow  of  a  cloud  on  her  face ;  and  I  saw  that  she 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  enjoy  the  afternoon.  I 
rather  envied  Freddy. 

She  proposed  politely  to  sit  by  me,  but  I  put  them 


THE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT         141 

into  the  tonneau.  It  was  a  glorious  day,  and  once 
out  of  London,  I  enjoyed  the  drive.  I  felt  that  I 
was  performing  a  noble  action.  Most  of  the  time 
I  drove  slowly;  but  once  when  a  road-hog  came 
scorching  along,  I  gave  him  my  dust  for  eight  miles. 
All  the  while  I  heard  a  gentle  murmur  of  talk  from 
the  tonneau,  and  sometimes  a  soft  laugh.  They 
were  not  talking  about  Herbert. 

We  had  tea  at  the  "White  Hart"  at  Lewes.  We 
talked  for  some  time  after  it.  I  left  them  to  get  the 
car,  and  I  was  some  time  over  that.  It  was  past 
six  when  I  brought  it  round  to  the  front  door  of 
the  hotel. 

As  she  got  into  the  car,  Kitty  Maynard  said 
anxiously:  "I'm  afraid  we  shall  have  to  hurry 
back,  Lord  Garthoyle.  Mr.  Polkington  is  calling  for 
me  at  half  past  nine  to  take  me  to  a  dance  at  the 
Cheshams.  Do  you  think  we  shall  do  it?" 

"The  car  can  do  it,"  I  said. 

It  could. 

I  ran  up  to  Three  Bridges  and*  down  to  Horsham. 
It  is  at  the  top  of  the  triangle  of  which  a  line  drawn 
between  Guild  ford  and  Dorking  would  be  the  base. 
Garth  Royal,  my  country  house,  lies  in  the  middle 
of  it.  I  set  out  to  drive  round  that  triangle. 


142  ALICE  DEVINE 

.The  talk  in  the  tonneau  was  rather  fitful.  There 
were  long  silences.  Once  I  heard  Kitty  Maynard 
say: 

"No,  no,  no,  Freddy.    It's  too  late." 

By  eight  o'clock  I  had  driven  round  the  triangle 
and  was  back  at  Horsham.  Freddy  seemed  to  see 
the  danger,  for  I  heard  the  talk  brisk  up. 

I  thought  I  was  going  to  get  safely  through  the 
town,  when  Kitty  Maynard  gave  a  little  cry  and 
said: 

"Why — why — we  were  here  hours  ago!  We 
must  have  lost  our  way !  We  shall  be  ever  so  late 
getting  to  London.  Herbert  will  be  perfectly  hor- 
rible." 

"But  we're  not  going  back  to  London,"  answered 
Freddy. 

I  let  the  car  go.  The  middle  of  a  town  of  nine 
thousand  inhabitants  is  not  the  place  for  delicate 
explanation.  Besides,  I  did  not  want  to  overhear 
the  discussion;  I  thought  that  they  would  prefer  it 
private.  As  it  was,  I  caught  scraps  of  it,  of  Kitty 
Maynard's  side  of  it.  She  was  plainly  enough  in  a 
royal  rage. 

I  had  got  about  eight  miles  beyond  Horsham  when 
Freddy  called  to  me  to  stop.  We  were  in  a  nice 


THE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT         143 

empty  part  of  the  country,  a  long  way  from  any- 
where— as  far  as  walking  went.  So  I  stopped. 

Kitty  leaned  over  the  front  of  the  tonneau  and 
said: 

"Please  drive  me  back  to  London  at  once,  Lord 
Garthoyle." 

She  was  still  in  a  rage;  her  cheeks  were  white  and 
her  eyes  were  just  flaming. 

"It  can't  be  done.  I'm  a  brutal  bad  brigand  at 
five  stone  seven  to-night.  It's  my  first  attempt  at 
a  kidnaping  job,  and  I'm  going  through  with  it 
like  a  man,"  I  said  cheerfully. 

"It's  hateful.  .  .  .  It's  disgraceful  .  .  .  it's 
incredible!  You  can't  really  suppose  that  you  jean 
force  me  to  do  this  ridiculous  thing!"  she  cried. 

"I  don't  see  anything  ridiculous  in  it.  I  should 
think  you'd  find  it  rather  nice,"  I  said. 

"You  won't?"  she  cried,  and  turned  to  Freddy. 
"Make  him,  Freddy!  Make  him  at  once!  .  .  . 
Oh,  I'll  never — never — forgive  you!" 

"I  can't  make  him  .  .  .  hulking  brute;  and  I 
wouldn't  if  I  could,"  said  Freddy  cheerfully.  And 
I  gathered  that  he  was  hopeful. 

"But — but  what  will  people  say  ?  I  shall  be  com- 
promised— hopelessly  compromised!"  she  cried. 


144  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Not  if  you  marry  me,"  said  Freddy. 

"I  won't  marry  you!" 

"We're  keeping  that  parson  waiting,"  said 
Freddy. 

"I'll  never  marry  you!"  she  cried,  and  jumped 
out  of  the  car. 

She  set  out  walking  quickly  to  Horsham. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Freddy  calmly.  "She'll  be 
better  presently — like  a  lamb.  There's  always  a 
reaction  after  these  rages.  It's  only  a  matter  of 
keeping  one's  temper  with  her." 

He  set  out  after  her,  caught  her  up  and  walked 
beside  her.  I  could  see  that  he  was  talking  hard. 
I  let  them  get  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  down  the 
road  before  I  set  the  car  crawling  after  them.  I 
wondered  how  far  she  would  walk  before  she  gave 
in.  Two  or  three  times  Freddy  put  his  arm  round 
her,  and  she  shook  herself  out  of  it.  Then  at  the 
end  of  a  mile  they  stopped.  I  stopped,  too,  for  I 
thought  that  they  were  at  the  final  row  that  would 
clear  things  up. 

Then  Freddy  beckoned  to  me,  and  I  ran  up  to 
them. 

"Now,  on  your  honor,  Lord  Garthoyle,  what  time 


THE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT         145 

does  the  last  train  leave  Horsham?"  she  said.  And 
I  saw  that  she  looked  pale  and  uncertain. 

"On  my  honor  it  leaves  at  nine-eighteen,"  I  said. 

"Then  it  is  hopeless ;  and  I'll  never  forgive  Freddy 
— never." 

"That's  all  right.  I've  treated  you  shamefully, 
and  we'll  let  it  go  at  that,"  said  Freddy  cheerfully. 
"Now  we'll  go  and  be  married." 

He  half  lifted  her  into  the  car;  and  I  let  it  rip.  I 
did  not  hear  any  talk  from  the  tonneau.  I  took  it 
that  they  were  whispering. 

It  was  ten  minutes  past  nine  when  I  stopped  at  the 
door  of  Garth  Royal  Rectory.  I  had  fixed  the  time 
within  ten  minutes.  The  rector  stood  on  the  steps 
looking  out  for  us. 

Kitty  and  Freddy  got  out  of  the  car,  looking  as 
if  the)''  did  not  know  whether  they  were  standing 
on  their  heads  or  their  heels.  She  was  not  at  all 
pale,  she  was  blushing;  and  her  eyes  were  shining 
in  quite  a  different  way. 

I  had  made  all  the  arrangements  with  the  rector. 
He  had  only  to  look  at  the  special  license  and  see 
that  it  was  all  right.  Then  he  married  them  in  his 
own  drawing-room,  his  wife  and  daughters  stand- 


146  ALICE  DEVINE 

ing  by  Kitty  and  making  the  required  fuss.  Kitty 
looked  quite  resigned. 

Then  Kitty  wrote  a  short  letter  for  me  to  take 
to  her  mother.  Then  I  gave  her  my  peace-offering 
in  the  shape  of  a  rope  of  pearls. 

They  thanked  the  rector  and  came  back  to  the 
car ;  and  I  drove  them  to  the  Dower  House.  I  could 
not  lend  them  Garth  Royal  itself,  for  I  had  let  it  to 
a  Hamburg  money-lender.  But  the  Dower  House 
was  lighted  up  and  looked  very  nice  and  comfort- 
able; and  I  knew  that  their  wedding  supper  was  all 
right,  for  I  had  arranged  it  with  Harrod's  myself, 
and  sent  down  Richards  to  see  to  it. 

They  got  out  of  the  car,  and  the  door  opened  and 
Richards  came  out  to  receive  them.  In  the  blaze  of 
light  I  saw  that  Kitty  was  looking  very  pretty. 

They  turned,  but  I  did  not  give  them  time  to  start 
thanking  me.  I  called  out  good  night  and  good 
luck  and  bucketed  off.  I  did  bucket.  It  was  only 
half  past  eleven  when  I  sneaked  softly  up  the  stairs, 
slipped  Kitty's  note  into  the  letter-box  of  her 
mother's  flat  and  bolted  down  to  the  car. 

I  was  in  the  middle  of  my  supper  when  Herbert 
rushed  into  my  dining-room.  I  have  never  seen 
him  such  a  rich  purple  since. 


THE  RESCUE  OF  HERBERT         147 

"The' little  jade  has  jilted  me!  She's  married 
Freddy  Gage!"  he  roared. 

I  jumped  up  and  caught  his  hand,  gave  it  the 
heartiest  grip  I  could  get  out  of  my  muscles,  and 
shouted,  "Saved!  Saved!" 

"You  silly  idiot,"  howled  Herbert.  And  he 
danced  out  of  the  room,  waggling  his  Crushed 
fingers. 

From  Herbert's  point  of  view  I  dare  say  that 
there  was  something  in  what  he  said.  &11  the  same 
I  had  rescued  him. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    GARDEN    ANGEL 

THERE  was  no  doubt  that  since  I  was  running 
them,  it  was  my  duty  to  keep  an  eye  on  the 
Gardens  all  the  time.  That  is  what  a  complete 
house-agent  has  to  do.  There  was  no  doubt,  too, 
that  the  central  garden  was  the  best  place  to  keep 
an  eye  on  them  from ;  and  I  took  to  spending  a  good 
deal  of  my  time  in  it.  I  could  not  help  the  fact  that 
Alice  Devine  spent  a  good  deal  of  her  time  in  it, 
too;  so  that  I  was  always  meeting  her  there.  And 
when  I  met  her,  I  had  to  talk  to  her.  It  would  not 
have  been  polite  not  to. 

I  soon  began  to  enjoy  that  garden.  I  found  it 
quite  a  little  world — a  world  of  children  and  nurse- 
maids, with  cliques  and  jealousies  and  dislikes  and 
squabbles,  just  like  the  world  we  live  in.  I  learned 
about  them  quicker  than  I  should  have  done,  for 
Alice  knew  the  ropes  and  told  me.  She  enjoyed 

148 


THE  GARDEN  ANGEL  149 

that  little  world  thoroughly;  and  she  made  me  see 
how  amusing  it  was,  while  I  kept  pointing  out  to 
her  how  very  like  its  squabbles  were  to  the  squab- 
bles going  on  between  the  parents  of  the  children. 
She  was  very  popular  in  it,  not  only  with  the  chil- 
dren, which  was  only  natural,  but  also  with  the 
nursemaids,  which  was  much  more  difficult.  She 
had  the  sympathetic  nature.  Certainly  I  found  her 
as  sympathetic  as  could  be;  and  I  fell  into  the  way 
of  telling  her  my  difficulties  with  my  tenants.  Often 
she  made  the  most  useful  suggestions;  and  some- 
times they  were  quite  brilliant. 

I  was  a  good  deal  interested  in  a  friend  of  hers 
whom  I  often  saw  in  the  garden :  Miss  Mary  Eglan- 
tine Pontifex  D'Eresby.  And  I  was  chiefly  inter- 
ested in  her  because  she  looked  exactly  like  a  small 
but  wingless  angel.  She  had  the  golden  hair  and 
deep  blue  eyes  that  angels  always  have  at  the  Acad- 
emy and  on  Christmas-cards.  She  had  the  angel  full- 
face,  the  angel  side-face,  the  angel  mouth,  the  angel 
nose;  and  she  was  about  twelve  years  old. 

When  I  first  noticed  her  angelic  appearance,  she 
seemed  to  be  having  a  lonely  and  desolate  time  of  it. 

I  asked  Alice  who  she  was,  and  when  she  told 
me,  I  said :  "Why  isn't  she  playing  with  the  others  ? 


ISO  ALICE  DEVINE 

I've  been  watching  her;  and  she  doesn't  go  near 
them.  Is  she  sulking?" 

"The  angel-child  kicked  little  Lord  Pomeroy's 
shins;  and  the  other  children  have  sent  her  to  Cov- 
entry," said  Alice,  smiling. 

Little  Lord  Pomeroy  is  a  pink  boy  with  tow- 
colored  curls.  I  never  see  him  without  wanting  to 
crop  him  on  the  spot. 

"Do  him  good,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  he's  such  a  sweet  little  boy!"  cried  Alice. 

"Yes,  sticky,"  I  said.  "Why  did  the  angel-child 
kick  him?" 

"I'm  afraid  he  pulled  Molly  Boisragon's  hair," 
said  Alice. 

"I  expected  it  was  something  of  that  kind — little 
sweep!  And  I  suppose  all  the  other  little  girls  love 
him  dearly;  and  so  they  sent  this  angel-child  to 
Coventry  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Alice. 

"Well,  do  you  think  you  could  introduce  me  to 
her?"  I  said. 

Alice  called  to  her,  but  Miss  D'Eresby  only  gave 
her  a  cool  nod  and  went  down  the  path  with  a  great 
deal  of  dignity. 


THE  GARDEN  ANGEL 


"Never  mind;  some  other  day,  when  she  isn't 
feeling  so  haughty,"  I  said. 

"She  isn't  often  haughty.  I  expect  she's  feeling 
the  injustice,"  said  Alice. 

As  it  chanced  Alice  did  not  present  me  to  the  lady. 
The  very  next  day  I  presented  myself  to  her.  After 
lunch  I  was  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  garden,  smok- 
ing a  cigar,  when  that  angel-child  came  in  view 
tearing  down  the  path  as  hard  as  she  could  lick  ;  and 
after  her  came  lumbering  heavily  one  of  the  under- 
gardeners,  a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Frederick. 
The  chase  was  certainly  no  business  of  mine;  the 
gardeners  are  in  charge  of  the  garden;  and  it  is  silly 
to  do  your  own  barking  when  you  keep  a  dog.  It 
was  just  the  sporting  instinct  that  made  me  jump 
for  it,  and  snatch  her  up  as  she  reached  me. 

"You  pig!"  shrieked  the  angel-child;  and  she 
kicked  my  shins  with  uncommon  vigor. 

I  sat  down  with  her  on  my  knee,  and  it  was  like 
holding  a  little  wildcat.  She  seemed  to  have  a  good 
deal  more  muscle  than  an  Academy  angel.  In  her 
hand  was  a  bunch  of  yellow  carnations. 

Frederick  came  lumbering  up  and  said  rather 
breathlessly  :  "I've  bin  tryin'  and  tryin'  to  find  out 


152  ALICE  DEVINE 

who  was  a-stealing  of  them  carnations;  an'  to-day 
I  thought  I'd  just  take  my  dinner  in  the  shrubbery 
ag'in'  the  big  bed ;  an'  I  caught  'er  in  the  act !" 

"You  never  caught  me,"  said  the  angel-child 
scornfully.  "If  you'd  caught  me,  I  should  just  have 
bitten  you,  and  got  away  easily,  old  pig  Frederick." 

"  'Ark  at  'er,  your  Lordship !  'ark  at  'er ;  She's  a 
terror  that  child — a  fair  terror,"  said  Frederick. 

"It's  a  depraved  taste — biting  under-gardeners," 
I  said. 

"I  will  bite  the  pig,  if  he  touches  me,"  said  the 
angel-child  firmly. 

"But  why  did  you  steal  the  carnations,  Miss 
D'Eresby?"  I  said. 

"I  didn't  steal  them.  I  just  took  them  to  give  to 
the  little  boy  who's  been  ill,  to  punish  Frederick  for 
not  letting  him  come  into  the  garden,"  said  the  angel- 
child. 

"As  if  I  should  let  the  likes  of  them  into  the 
garden,  your  Lordship !  An'  the  sick  one  not  even 
in  a  proper  pram — just  in  a  box — a  box  on  wheels — 
'ome-made,"  cried  Frederick  with  great  indignation. 

I  do  not  like  Frederick,  a  slack-jawed,  loose-lipped 
loafer,  always  gossiping  with  nursemaids  instead  of 


THE  GARDEN  ANGEL  153 

doing  his  work.  This  jack-in-office  turning  a  sick 
child  out  of  the  garden  was  exactly  the  kind  of 
thing  he  would  do  with  all  his  heart. 

"I  don't  suppose  they  would  have  done  any  harm," 
I  said. 

"That's  what  I  said.  They  won't  eat  your  beastly 
old  flowers,"  said  Miss  D'Eresby. 

"It  warn't  the  flowers,  your  Lordship.  But  this 
'ere  is  a  garden  for  gentlefolk;  and  we  don't  want 
none  of  them  paupers  in  it.  I  did  me  dooty,  your 
Lordship,"  said  Frederick  with  a  virtuous  air. 

"Well,  you  can  go  back  to  your  work,"  I  said. 

"And  I'll  pay  you  out  for  interfering,  old  pig 
Frederick,"  said  the  angel-child. 

"'Ark  at  'er  langwidge!  An'  she  belonging  to 
one  of  the  best  families  in  Englan,"  said  Frederick; 
and  he  slouched  off  down  the  path. 

"I'll  teach  him,"  said  Miss  D'Eresby  firmly. 

She  was  now  looking  perfectly  unruffled  and  com- 
posed, in  spite  of  her  flight  from  Frederick  and  her 
struggle  with  me. 

"He  only  did  his  duty,"  I  said. 

"If  he  did  his  work  ever,  it  wouldn't  matter  so 
much,"  said  Miss  D'Eresby  coldly.  "But  he  does 


I54  ALICE  DEVINE 

nothing  but  idle  and  interfere.  I'll  teach  him  and 
Gwendolen  Binns,  too,"  she  added  with  even  greater 
firmness. 

"Who  is  Gwendolen  Binns  ?"  I  said. 

"She's  the  Cantelune  baby's  nurse,"  said  the 
angel-child. 

"And  what  has  she  been  doing  to  you  ?" 

"She  hasn't  been  doing  anything  to  me;  but  she's 
always  neglecting  that  baby  shamefully.  Three 
times  I've  found  him  screaming,  and  she's  been  ever 
so  far  off,  talking  to  Frederick.  I'll  teach  both  of 
them." 

From  her  tone  I  believed  she  would;  and  I 
thought  that  Frederick  and  his  Gwendolen  had  bet- 
ter look  out. 

"You  seem  a  general  redresser  of  wrongs,"  I 
said. 

"I  don't  know  what  that  means;  but  they'd  better 
look  out,"  she  said. 

"About  those  carnations?"  I  saidL. 

"Oh,  I  was  forgetting,"  she  said,  slipping  off  my 
knee.  "Henry  and  George  are  resting  on  the  pave- 
ment in  the  shade  just  outside  the  gate.  I'll  take 
Henry  the  carnations.  You  don't  mind  my  giving 
them  to  him,  do  you  ?"  she  said  a  little  anxiously. 


THE  GARDEN  ANGEL  155 

"I'll  come  with  you  and  take  a  look  at  Henry  and 
George,"  I  said;  and  I  got  up,  and  we  went  out  of 
the  garden. 

We  found  Henry  and  George  in  the  shade  of  the 
trees  on  the  edge  of  the  garden.  Henry,  very  white- 
faced,  a  boy  of  about  nine,  was  lying  in  the  shallow 
wooden  box  on  wheels  which  was  his  invalid's  chair. 
George  was  sitting  on  the  pavement  by  the  side  of 
it,  waiting  for  the  angel-child.  At  the  sight  of  me 
he  jumped  up  and  pretended  to  be  pushing  Henry 
along.  I  could  quite  understand  that  he  was  used 
to  being  chivied  along  about  May  fair.  It  is  not  the 
place  for  a  sick  child  in  a  wooden  box.  The  angel- 
child  stopped  them  and  gave  Henry  the  carnations. 
He  seemed  to  like  them  a  good  deal,  and  grinned  at 
her  feebly. 

I  asked  George  what  was  the  matter  with  Henry, 
and  he  told  me  that  he  had  been  knocked  down  by 
a  motor-car  and  had  lately  come  out  of  the  hospital. 
The  accident  was  a  severe  family  trouble;  for  the 
gentleman  who  was  driving  the  car  had  dashed  on, 
leaving  the  smashed  Henry  lying  where  he  had 
knocked  him,  and  so  escaped  paying  the  money 
which  would  have  brought  him  better  food  during 
his  convalescence. 


156  ALICE  DEVINE 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Henry  might  as  well  have 
any  good  he  could  get  out  of  the  garden;  and  I 
wheeled  him  into  it  and  found  a  nice  shady  corner 
for  him.  Then  I  went  to  my  house  and  told  Rich- 
ards to  get  from  the  cook  a  basket  of  invalid's  food, 
pate  de  foies  gras  and  jelly,  and  chicken  and  cake, 
and  a  jug  of  milk.  I  carried  it  to  the  boys ;  and  they 
were  pleased,  and  so  was  the  angel-child.  She  quite 
mothered  Henry  as  he  ate.  When  I  came  away 
from  them,  I  told  George  that  he  was  to  call  at  my 
house  every  day  for  more  invalid  food. 

Miss  D'Eresby  followed  me. 

"I  say — I — I'm  so  sorry  I  kicked  you.  I  didn't 
know  that  you  were  such  a  brick,"  she  said.  "I  hope 
I  didn't  hurt  you  very  badly." 

"Oh,  no;  but  I  would  rather  you  didn't  kick  me 
when  you  have  thick  boots  on,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  I  shall  never  kick  you  again — never,"  she 
said;  and  she  went  dancing  back  to  her  proteges. 
She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  about  being  in  Cov- 
entry. 

I  happened  to  go  into  the  garden  after  dinner  that 
evening,  and  I  was  sorry  to  learn  from  Alice  that 
the  angel-child  had  got  into  more  trouble  later  in 
the  afternoon.  Little  Lord  Pomeroy  had  come  and 


THE  GARDEN  ANGEL  157 

thrown  stones  at  her  and  the  invalid  Henry,  and 
she  came  away  from  the  contest  that  followed 
with  a  nice  sample  of  his  tow-colored  'ctirls. 

After  this  introduction  she  and  I  grew  very 
friendly,  and  I  learned  more  about  the  garden-world 
from  her.  I  gathered  that  she  acted  as  a  kind  of 
guardian  of  it.  She  looked  after  Henry  and  George, 
who  came  to  their  shady  corner  every  fine  afternoon ; 
she  kept  an  eye  on  the  smaller  children,  and  saw 
that  the  big  ones  did  not  tease  them ;  she  was  always 
checking  the  interfering  Frederick,  and  she  did  her 
best  to  keep  Gwendolen  Binns,  a  high-colored  noisy 
wench,  up  to  her  work  of  looking  after  Lord  Can- 
telune.  He  did  not  seem  to  me  to  look  neglected; 
he  was  a  chubby  baby.  She  gave  me  a  good  deal  of 
her  society,  in  spite  of  her  numerous  occupations, 
declaring  that  she  preferred  being  with  grown-ups 
to  being  with  children. 

Several  times  I  asked  her  when  she  was  going  to 
make  a  man — a  working  man  of  Frederick.  She 
always  shook  her  head,  and  said  darkly  that  Fred- 
erick had  better  look  out,  that  she  would  catch  him 
one  of  these  days. 

I  saw  her  catch  him. 

I  came  into  the  garden  about  three  o'clock  one 


158  ALICE  DEVINE 

afternoon,  and  was  walking  toward  Henry's  shady 
•corner  to  see  how  he  was  getting  on,  when  the  angel- 
child  came  tearing  round  a  bend  in  the  side  path 
that  led  to  it;  and  after  her  lumbered  the  inevi- 
table Frederick.  In  the  middle  of  her  course  she 
jumped  something — I  could  not  see  what — Freder- 
ick did  not  jump,  but  he  came  a  thundering  cropper 
over  a  piece  of  string,  about  a  foot  from  the  ground, 
tied  to  a  shrub  on  either  side  of  the  path. 

The  angel-child  pulled  up  short  at  my  side  and 
turned.  At  the  sight  of  Frederick's  cropper  she 
shrieked  with  joy  and  held  on  to  my  arm  that  she 
might  indulge  in  violent  merriment  without  falling 
to  the  ground. 

Frederick  picked  himself  up  slowly  and  stood 
staring  about  in  a  dazed  way,  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  think  what  he  had  been  doing  and  could  not  quite 
remember. 

"Whenever  I  come  into  the  garden,  I  find  you 
playing  with  little  girls,  Frederick.  Haven't  you 
any  work  to  do  ?"  I  said  severely. 

Frederick  seemed  to  remember  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

"Playin5 !"  he  howled.    "Playin' !" 

"Playing,"  I  said.    "Playing  catch  as  catch  can." 


THE  GARDEN  ANGEL  159 

"That  young  limb  took  my  trowel!  'Ow  can  I 
work  without  a  trowel?"  howled  Frederick. 

"I  took  it  to  make  him  go  on  with  his  work  and 
not  keep  Binns  from  minding  the  Cantelune  baby," 
said  the  angel-child  with  a  most  virtuous  air. 

To  take  away  a  man's  tools  seemed  an  odd  way 
of  making  him  go  on  with  his  work;  but  I  took  it 
that  Miss  D'Eresby  knew  Frederick  better  than  I 
did. 

"I'll  gompline  to  yer  ma !"  he  roared.  "I'll  have 
damages.  That's  what  I'll  do;  and  damages  I'll 
get !  I'm  not  goin'  to  be  knocked  about  for  nothink 
— not  me!  I'll  have  the  lor  of  yer!  S'welp  me  I 
will!" 

"Sneaking  pig!"  said  the  angel-child  contemptu- 
ously. 

"I'm  off  to  yer  ma — now — this  very  minute," 
cried  Frederick.  "His  Lordship'll  bear  witness  'ow 
you've  bin  knockin'  me  about.  He  seed  yer  do  it." 

He  turned  and  went 

"You've  forgotten  your  trowel,"  cried  the  angel- 
child,  and  she  threw  it  after  him. 

The  point  of  it  struck  Frederick's  elbow  and  he 
jumped  and  squealed. 

"Oh,  wasn't  that  a  lucky  shot!     It  must  have 


160  ALICE  DEVINE 

caught  him  on  the  funny-bone,"  cried  the  angel- 
child;  and  she  danced  lightly  in  a  rapturous  joy. 

Frederick  picked  up  the  trowel  and  bounded  round 
the  bend  in  the  path  as  if  he  were  anxious  to  get 
out  of  range. 

"I'm  afraid  you  are  going  to  get  into  trouble  this 
time,"  I  said.  "He'll  certainly  tell  your  mother." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right  if  he  only  tells  mother.  She 
won't  mind.  She  knows  all  about  Frederick.  I've 
told  her  lots  of  times.  There  would  be  trouble  if  he 
told  father,  though.  Father  never  does  understand 
things." 

"Then  let's  hope  he  doesn't  get  at  your  father." 

"If  he  does,  I  will  teach  him  to  complain!"  said 
the  angel-child ;  and  she  set  about  untying  the  string 
across  the  path. 

I  strolled  on  and  met  Frederick  pulling  on  his 
coat  with  an  air  of  resolution  as  he  strode  toward 
the  gate. 

"Here,  where  are  you  going  to  ?"   I  said  sharply. 

"I'm  horf  to  the  Honorable  Mrs.  D'Eresby  to 
compline  strite,  your  Lordship,"  said  Frederick. 

"You  can  get  to  your  work,  and  be  sharp  about  it. 
I  don't  pay  you  wages  to  spend  all  your  time  gossip- 
ing and  gadding  about  to  make  frivolous  com- 


THE  GARDEN  ANGEL  161 

plaints.  You  can  do  that  in  your  own  time — when 
you've  done  your  work,"  I  said  with  some  ferocity. 

"B-b-but,  your  Lordship — you — you  seed  'ow  that 
young  limb  treated  me,"  Frederick  stuttered. 

"You  get  back  to  your  work,  and  be  smart  about 
it!"  I  snapped. 

I  thought  Frederick  would  burst  into  tears,  but 
he  turned  and  went. 

It  seemed  as  well  that  Miss  D'Eresby  should  have 
the  opportunity  of  telling  her  version  of  the  story 
first.  As  for  Frederick,  I  had  no  pity  for  him;  I 
wondered,  indeed,  why  the  head  gardener  had  not 
discharged  him  long  ago. 

I  had  not  learned  whether  he  had  made  his  com- 
plaint to  the  angel-child's  mother,  or  her  father,  or 
whether  he  had  made  it  at  all;  but  as  I  strolled 
through  the  garden  the  next  afternoon,  she  rushed 
out  of  a  shrubbery  and  said  in  an  excited  whisper: 
"You're  just  in  time!" 

With  that  she  caught  hold  of  my  hand  and  led 
me  into  a  shrubbery,  whispering  to  me  to  be  very 
quiet.  Her  eyes  were  sparkling  and  her  face  was 
flushed.  She  was  radiant.  As  I  came  through  the 
shrubbery  I  heard  the  sound  of  tremendous  snoring; 
and  on  the  retired  lawn  on  the  other  side  of  the 


162  ALICE  DEVINE 

shrubbery  I  saw  Frederick.  He  was  lying  sprawled 
on  his  back,  his  head  pillowed  on  his  coat,  and  from 
his  gaping  mouth  came  tremendous  snore  after  tre- 
mendous snore.  As  an  employer  of  labor — his  labor 
— my  blood  boiled  at  the  sight  of  this  sloth.  Then 
I  saw  that  a  garden-hose  ran  across  the  lawn,  and 
the  nozzle  of  it  rested  on  Frederick's  bosom. 

"Wasn't  I  lucky  to  find  him  like  this  ?"  whispered 
the  angel-child.  "You  watch!" 

Three  feet  from  us  was  the  stand-pipe  with  which 
the  hose  was  connected.  She' turned  the  tap  on  full. 

A  bubbling  gush  of  water  deluged  the  front  of 
Frederick  and  inflated  his  shirt ;  a  long-drawn  snore 
ended  abruptly  in  a  terrific  snort,  and  I  have  never 
seen  anything  so  funny  as  his  face  when  he  woke 
and  tried  to  think  what  was  happening  to  him.  Then 
he  let  out  an  astonished  howl  and  jumped  up,  stream- 
ing like  a  walking  waterfall.  He  dashed  out  of  the 
lawn,  and  it  was  well  for  us  that  we  had  a  clear 
field.  I  should  have  choked  if  I  had  had  to  restrain 
my  laughter;  and  the  angel-child  was  fairly  shriek- 
ing with  joy.  She  had  a  wonderful  sense  of  farce 
for  one  so  young.  We  found  it  better  to  hold  on 
to  each  other;  that  way  we  could  laugh  more  com- 
fortably. 


THE  GARDEN  ANGEL  163 

When  we  had  got  over  the  worst  of  our  laughing 
we  came  out  of  the  shrubbery,  and  we  heard  the 
jclump,  clump  of  Frederick's  boots  coming  our  way. 
At  the  sound  we  looked  as  solemn  as  two  judges; 
and  Frederick  came  round  the  corner  bounding  like 
an  infuriated  tiger,  dripping  as  he  ran.  At  the  sight 
of  us  he  pulled  up  and  glared  at  the  angel-child. 

I  stopped,  too,  and  said  in  a  severe  tone: 

"Whenever  I  see  you,  Frederick,  you're  running. 
I'm  not  going  to  have  you  train  for  Marathon  races 
in  this  garden.  It  won't  make  the  flowers  grow." 

"I  warn't  training  for  no  Marathon  ryce,  your 
Lordship,"  panted  Frederick  indignantly;  and  he 
glowered  at  the  angel-child  with  suspicious  fury. 

"Oh,  he's  been  in  the  fountain  with  his  clothes 
on !  Look  how  wet  he  is,"  said  the  angel-child. 

"Really  you  have  extraordinary  habits,  Freder- 
ick," I  said,  even  more  severely. 

"It's  not  a  nabit,  it's  a  trick,"  said  Frederick 
thickly. 

"Well,  don't  play  it  again,"  I  said. 

"Plye  it !  Plye  it !  I  never  did !  It  was  a  trick 
as  was  played  on  me!"  said  Frederick  in  a  louder 
tone. 

"You've  been  drinking,"  I  said.     "No  one  could 


164  ALICE  DEVINE 

put  a  big  lump  like  you  into  the  fountain,  if  you 
were  sober." 

"It  warn't  the  fountain,  it  were  the  'ose.  Some 
one  wetted  me  with  the  'ose,"  shouted  Frederick. 

"The  garden  isn't  the  place  for  shower-baths. 
You  have  no  right  to  get  people  to  wash  you  in  the 
garden,"  I  said. 

Frederick  opened  his  mouth,  then  he  shut  it.  He 
looked  round  the  garden  rather  wildly;  then  he 
looked  at  the  sky.  His  eyes  rolled. 

I  saw  his  difficulty;  he  did  not  wish  to  explain 
that  advantage  had  been  taken  of  him  in  his  sleep. 

"It  were  a  naccident,  your  Lordship,"  he  whined. 

"Then  don't  let  it  happen  again,"  I  said. 

Frederick  shuffled  away  hastily,  muttering  that  he 
must  get  his  wet  clothes  off,  or  he  would  catch  his 
death  of  cold. 

"He  won't  go  to  sleep  when  he  ought  to  be  work- 
ing again,  in  a  hurry,"  said  Miss  D'Eresby  in  a  vir- 
tuous tone. 

"I  don't  think  he  will ;  and  I'm  very  much  obliged 
to  you  for  keeping  him  up  to  his  work,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  I  like  doing  it — like  that,"  she  said  quickly. 
"Wasn't  his  face  funny  when  the  water  woke  him 
up?"  And  she  laughed  again  heartily. 


I  k 

CHAPTER  VIII 

LOST   LORD   CANTELUNE 

/ 

FOR  some  days  after  that  the  chastened  Fred- 
erick seemed  to  be  doing  his  work  better 
and  gossiping  less.  That,  at  least,  was  the  report  of 
Miss  D'Eresby.  Then  he  had  a  relapse;  for  one 
afternoon  I  happened  to  be  strolling  in  the  garden 
with  Alice,  when  she  came  to  us  with  a  very  anxious 
face. 

"Frederick's  really  dreadful,"  she  said.  "/  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  him.  He's  been  talking  and 
talking  to  that  Gwendolen  Binns,  and  she's  neglect- 
ing the  Cantelune  baby  worse  than  ever." 

"Things  are  getting  serious,"  I  said. 

"They  are,"  said  the  angel-child. 

"Well,  I  leave  it  in  your  hands.  I  think  you'll 
find  a  way  of  stopping  it  before  you've  done,"  I 
said. 

"I  expect  I  shall,"  she  said;  and  she  went  off  with 
a  more  hopeful  face. 

165 


166  ALICE  DEVINE 

"She's  a  wonder,  tHat  child,"  I  said.  "She'll  soon 
relieve  me  of  all  responsibility  about  this  garden." 

"She  does  look  after  things,"  said  Alice. 

It  was  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  that  we 
found  her  looking  after  things  again.  We  heard 
howls  and  outcries  in  a  corner  of  the  garden,  and 
hurried  up  to  find  out  what  was  happening.  In  the 
middle  of  a  ring  of  shrieking  children  I  saw  the 
angel-child.  She  had  one  hand  clenched  in  the  tow- 
colored  curls  of  little  Lord  Pomeroy  and  was  smack- 
ing his  face  with  the  other.  His  were  the  howls  we 
had  heard. 

I  dashed  for  them  and  got  hold  of  them.  They 
came  apart  more  easily  than  I  had  expected;  and 
little  Lord  Pomeroy  ran  off  howling. 

"That'll  teach  him  to  stick  pins  into  babies," 
said  the  angel-child  triumphantly. 

I  did  not  think  that  it  would. 

Little  Lord  Pomeroy's  nurse  came  up  and  began  to 
scold  her;  Alice  scolded  her,  too.  I  think  it  was 
those  tow-colored  curls  that  made  little  Lord  Pom- 
eroy such  a  pet.  Miss  D'Eresby  defended  herself 
with  a  firm  gallantry.  It  seemed  that  Gwendolen 
Binns  had  slipped  away  to  gossip  with  Frederick, 
leaving  Lord  Cantelune  sleeping  in  his  perambulator. 


LOST  LORD  CANTELUNE          f6; 

Little  Lord  Pomeroy  had  thought  the  chance  too 
good  to  be  missed  and  prodded  Lord  Cantelune  with 
a  pin.  It  had  not  been  so  good  a  chance  as  little 
Lord  Pomeroy  had  supposed;  for  the  angel-child 
had  come  upon  him  unawares  in  the  very  act  and 
secured  the  requisite  grip  on  his  curls  before  he 
knew  that  she  was  there. 

I  defended  the  angel-child  and  praised  her  han- 
dling of  the  situation;  and  Alice  scolded  me  for 
encouraging  her  in  her  violent  administration  of 
justice.  It  took  us  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  to 
argue  it  out. 

The  angel-child  went  away  early  in  the  afternoon, 
saying  that  she  expected  that  the  little  beast's  (she 
was  referring  to  little  Lord  Pomeroy)  mother  would 
come  out  and  make  a  fuss. 

When  I  saw  her  the  next  day  she  was  frowning  as 
if  she  were  trying  to  think  hard  and  found  it  a 
strain. 

I  asked  her  what  was  the  matter,  and  she  said : 
"It's  Frederick  and  Gwendolen  Binns.  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  them.  I  want  to  give  them 
a  real  lesson." 

"But  you're  always  giving  Frederick  real  lessons," 
I  said. 


168  ALICE  DEVINE 

"I  want  to  give  him  one  he'll  really  remember, 
and  Gwendolen  Binns,  too." 

"I  expect  you'll  think  of  one,  if  you  go  on  try- 
ing," I  said  in  a  cheering  tone. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  could  help  me,"  she  said. 

I  sat  down  on  a  bench  and  gave  my  mind  to  it; 
but  I  could  not  hit  on  a  lesson.  At  last  I  told  her 
that  it  was  more  in  her  line  than  in  mine,  and  left  it 
at  that. 

Three  days  later  I  came  back  home  about  four 
o'clock  after  motoring  to  Wembley  and  back  for  a 
little  polo  practise.  As  I  stopped  before  my  house, 
I  saw  a  crowd  in  the  garden  near  one  of  the  gates, 
and  went  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

The  crowd  was  composed  of  nursemaids  and  chil- 
dren, and  in  the  middle  of  it  were  Police-Constable 
Brookes  and  another  policeman.  I  pushed  through 
it  and  asked  Brookes  what  was  the  matter. 

"There's  a  baby  missin',  m'Lord,"  said  Brookes. 
"Lord  Cantelune's  'is  name." 

He  went  on  questioning  Gwendolen  Binns. 

She  declared  again  and  again  that  she  had  only 
just  turned  her  back  on  the  child;  and  when  she 
looked  round  he  had  gone.  One  of  the  older  nurses 
volunteered  the  information  that  Gwendolen  had 


LOST  LORD  CANTELUNE  169 

been  talking  to  Frederick  for  at  least  ten  minutes; 
and  Gwendolen  said  with  some  heat  that  she  would 
not  demean  herself  to  answer  no  such  lies. 

There  was  something  of  an  altercation;  and  I 
gathered  that  she  had  left  Lord  Cantelune  sleeping 
in  his  perambulator,  and  when  she  returned  to  it, 
the  perambulator  was  empty. 

Now  Lord  Cantelune  could  not  have  got  out  of  his 
perambulator  by  himself.  He  wras  not  old  enough. 
Moreover,  Gwendolen  Binns  asserted  that  he  had 
been  strapped  into  it  securely.  If  he  had  got  out  of 
it  he  could  not  have  crawled  any  distance  from  it, 
for  he  had  only  just  reached  the  crawling  stage,  and 
would  be  seriously  hampered  by  his  outdoor  clothes. 
It  was  quite  plain  somebody  had  taken  him. 

Here  Alice  intervened  with  the  information  that 
she  had  seen  two  tramps  loafing  along  outside  the 
garden;  and  little  Daisy  Sartorius  had  seen  them, 
too. 

This  put  a  serious  complexion  on  the  business; 
and  I  took  charge  of  it.  I  divided  up  the  children 
and  the  nursemaids  into  gangs  and  set  them  to  search 
the  shrubberies  thoroughly.  I  sent  off  one  of  the 
policemen  to  the  station  to  inform  the  inspector  in 
charge,  and  have  the  news  telephoned  to  the  neigh- 


170  ALICE  DEVINE 

boring  police-stations.  Before  the  children  and 
nursemaids  were  half-way  through  their  search,  the 
inspector  himself,  accompanied  by  three  more  police- 
men, came  in  haste  from  the  station.  I  suggested 
that  each  policeman  should  take  with  him  a  nurse- 
maid who  knew  Lord  Cantelune  (there  are  plenty 
of  spare  nursemaids  in  the  garden,  since  there  are  at 
least  two  to  each  family),  and  make  inquiries  in  the 
neighboring  streets  to  find  which  way  the  men  had 
gone.  The  inspector  fell  in  with  the  suggestion; 
neither  the  nursemaids  nor  the  policemen  made  any 
objection;  and  after  we  had  mapped  out  the  area  to 
be  searched  by  each  couple,  off  they  went 
cheerfully.  Then  I  suggested  to  Alice  that  she  and 
I  should  go  hunting  eastward.  She  agreed ;  and  we 
started.  Just  as  we  were  leaving  the  garden  the  first 
newspaper  reporter  arrived  and  fell  eagerly  on 
Gwendolen  Binns. 

Alice  was  distressed,  and  disposed  to  think  that 
Lord  Cantelune  would  never  be  found.  I  was  not 
We  had  been  too  quick  discovering  his  loss  and  set- 
ting out  to  hunt  down  the  kidnapers.  Long  before 
they  could  reach  their  lair  the  newspapers  would 
have  set  half  London  on  their  track,  unless  they 
chanced  to  be  living  close  by  in  one  of  the  Mayfair 


LOST  LORD  CANTELUNE 


slums.  And  then  those  slums  are  not  so  large  as 
they  are  dirty;  and  the  police  could  ransack  them 
thoroughly  without  any  great  difficulty.  It  is  not 
easy  for  a  tramp  to  get  any  distance  with  a  clean 
baby  without  attracting  notice. 

I  had  chosen  the  most  likely  direction  for  our  own 
search  ;  and  we  went  quickly  along,  making  inquiries 
as  we  went.  We  asked  every  likely  person,  police- 
men, commissionaires,  postmen,  and  all  persons  who 
looked  to  have  been  standing  about  idling  at  street 
corners,  or  against  the  walls  of  public-houses,  if  they 
had  seen  a  tramp  or  tramps  with  the  lost  Lord  Can- 
telune.  No  one  had.  It  was  somewhat  embarrass- 
ing that  so  many  of  them  leapt  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  was  our  own  lost  baby  we  were  looking  for  ; 
they  were  very  sympathetic,  begging  Alice  not  "to 
take  on."  Many  of  them,  too,  had  stories  of  lost 
children  to  tell,  stories  they  had  heard  from  friends 
or  acquaintances,  mostly  of  children  who  had  been 
lost  and  never  found.  They  were  not  cheering;  but 
they  went  along  with  us  to  tell  them. 

By  the  time  we  reached  Bond  Street  we  had  gath- 
ered round  us  an  enthusiastic  little  band  of  rather 
more  than  a  hundred  helpers,  who  took  part  in  all 
our  inquiries  in  a  thoroughly  confusing  way.  Sev- 


172  ALICE  DEVINE 

eral  of  the  women  who  had  joined  us  kept  pf offer- 
ing scriptural  consolation  to  Alice;  but  I  fancied 
that  they  always  quoted  wrong. 

We  plunged  into  the  region  beyond  Bond  Street ; 
but  there  again  we  found  no  traces  of  lost  Lord 
Cantelune.  Our  search  party  was  now  two  hundred 
strong;  and  I  found  it  so  much  more  embarrassing 
than  useful  that  I  suggested  to  Alice  that  we  should 
allow  it  to  go  on  searching  by  itself.  Alice  said 
that  it  would  be  best;  and  suddenly  we  slipped  into 
a  tea-shop.  Only  eleven  of  them  saw  our  move  and 
followed  us  in.  Five  of  these,  not  persons  of  the 
kind  who  generally  use  tearshops,  at  once  proposed 
that  I  should  pay  for  their  tea.  When  I  refused, 
they  went  outside,  leaving  only  six.  These  six 
seemed  bent  on  having  a  substantial  meal ;  Alice  and 
I  drank  our  tea  and  left  them  at  it.  When  we  came 
out  we  found  the  five  waiting  patiently  to  take  up 
the  search  with  us  again ;  but  a  taxicab  was  passing, 
we  jumped  into  it  and  drove  back  to  Garthoyle  Gar- 
dens. Alice  was  disposed  to  be  dispirited  and 
gloomy;  but  I  cheered  her  up  by  assuring  her  that, 
though  we  had  failed,  some  one  else  would  be  sure 
to  have  succeeded,  and  that  by  now  Lord  Cantelune 
had  been  restored  to  Gwendolen. 


LOST  LORD  CANTELUNE  173 

As  we  drove  along  there  stared  at  us  from  the 

posters  the  words: 

t> 

LORD  CANTELUNE   STOLEN. 

When  we  came  to  the  garden,  we  found  it  fuller 
than  ever.  Most  of  my  tenants  and  many  of  their 
servants  had  come  into  it  to  discuss  the  kidnaping, 
and  get  the  earliest  news  of  what  was  happening. 
So  far  the  police  had  no  news  of  the  missing  baby; 
none  of  the  nursemaids  had  returned  with  her  ac- 
companying policeman ;  they  were  hunting  still ;  and 
in  view  of  the  hour,  I  fancied  that  each  nursemaid 
and  her  policeman  were  at  the  moment  hunting  in 
a  tea-shop  at  the  nursemaid's  expense. 

Gwendolen  Binns  was  in  great  form,  holding 
forth  to  a  dozen  panting  newspaper  reporters  about 
how  she  had  been  dogged  by  suspicious-looking  peo- 
ple for  several  days,  and  having  her  portrait  taken 
in  the  part  of  lost  Lord  Cantelune's  devoted  and  sor- 
row-stricken nurse  for  all  the  illustrated  weeklies. 
Frederick  clung  to  her  side,  sharing  her  glory.  In 
the  middle  of  it  the  Marquis  of  Alperton,  Lord 
Cantelune's  father,  arrived  on  the  scene,  promptly 
discharged  her  from  his  service,  and  bade  her  at 


174  ALICE  DEVINE 

once  pack  her  boxes  and  clear  out  of  his  house.  She 
went,  protesting  in  shrill  howls. 

Then  came  the  news  that  the  Evening  Herald  had 
offered  one  hundred  pounds  reward  to  any  one  giv- 
ing information  that  should  lead  to  the  capture  of 
the  kidnapers;  and  one  of  its  chief  editors  rushed 
up  to  me  and  asked  permission  to  establish  a  tem- 
porary office  of  inquiry  in  the  garden. 

I  had  just  refused  to  allow  anything  of  the  kind 
when  the  Honorable  Byngo  D'Eresby,  the  father  of 
the  angel-child,  came  up  to  me.  We  always  call 
him  the  Honorable  Byngo  because  he  looks  so  like 
it.  The  angel-child  must  have  got  her  beauty  from 
her  mother. 

"I  say,  Garthoyle;  have  you  seen  that  little  devil 
of  mine  anywhere?"  he  said  in  his  drawling  way. 

"No;  what  is  it — a  fox-terrier — dachshund — 
collie?  Dogs  aren't  admitted  in  this  garden,  don't 
you  know,"  I  said. 

"Dogs!  It's  not  a  dog!  It's  my  little  girl,  I 
mean — Polly.  No  one's  seen  her  for  hours;  and 
I've  come  out  to  look  for  her.  Her  nurse  has  gone 
off  with  a  policeman  to  hunt  for  that  Cantelune 
baby." 

"Perhaps  she  went  with  them,"  I  said,  though  I 


LOST  LORD  CANTELUNE  175 

could  not  remember  having  seen  her  go,  or  indeed 
having  seen  her  at  all. 

"No,  she  didn't.  I've  found  that  out,"  said  the 
Honorable  Byngo. 

"I  hope  to  goodness  she  hasn't  been  stolen,  too," 
I  cried. 

"No  fear!  I  should  be  sorry  for  any  one  who 
stole  Polly.  But  don't  let  out  that  she's  missing, 
or  she'll  get  into  the  papers,  too.  She'll  turn  up  all 
right — I  know  Polly.  It's  only  that  her  mother's 
nervous." 

The  Honorable  Byngo  spoke  as  if  he  did  not  real- 
ize his  privilege  in  having  such  a  daughter;  and 
Polly  did  seem  to  me  to  be  a  poor  name  for  an  angel- 
child. 

"I  tell  you  what.  She's  gone  off  hunting  for  this 
lost  baby  on  her  own,"  I  said. 

"That's  it.  I'll  go  and  tell  her  mother,"  said  the 
Honorable  Byngo ;  and  off  he  went. 

About  six  pairs  of  nurses  and  policemen  trickled 
slowly  in.  Not  one  of  them  had  found  any  trace 
of  the  missing  baby.  No  news  had  come  from  any 
of  the  outlying  police-stations.  The  affair  was  be- 
ginning to  look  very  serious  indeed.  By  a  quarter 
to  seven  all  the  nurses  and  policemen  had  come  in. 


i  ;6  ALICE  DEVINE 

There  was  nothing  that  I  could  do;  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  staying  in  the  garden.  I 
asked  the  inspector  to  let  me  know  the  moment  any- 
thing fresh  turned  up  and  went  to  my  house. 

Richards  met  me  in  the  hall  and  said:  "If  you 
please,  m'Lord,  little  Miss  D'Eresby  has  brought  a 
baby  for  you  to  see;  and  they've  been  waiting  for 
you  most  of  the  afternoon." 

"The — the  deuce  she  has !"  I  said ;  and  I  sat  down 
on  a  chair. 

"Yes,1  m'Lord;  and  I  gave  them  some  tea;  and 
Martha  helped  Miss  D'Eresby  feed  the  baby.  He's 
a  sturdy  little  chap,  m'Lord." 

"Sturdy  little Why  you All  London 

is  hunting  for  that  baby!  Where  is  it?"  I  howled. 

"It  is  up-stairs  in  the  library,  m'Lord.  M-M-Miss 
D'Eresby  preferred  the  library,  b-b-because  of  the 
view  over  the  garden,  m'Lord,"  stammered  Richards. 

I  rushed  up-stairs  and  dashed  into  the  library. 
The  angel-child  had  her  elbows  on  the  window-sill 
and  was  watching  the  crowd  in  the  garden. 

"Hang  it  all.    .    .    ." 

"Hush,  you'll  wake  the  baby,"  she  interrupted, 
and  I  saw  the  lost  Lord  Cantelune  reposing  peace- 
fully in  an  armchair  by  her  side. 


LOST  LORD  CANTELUNE  177 

"WHAT  on  earth    .    .    ." 

"I  thought  you  were  never  coming,"  she  inter- 
rupted. "Binns  won't  neglect  this  child  again  in  a 
hurry.  It  has  been  fun  watching  all  the  excitement 
in  the  garden." 

It  was  no  use,  I  had  to  laugh — to  think  of  all  the 
police  and  press  of  London  in  a  whirl  of  furious 
energy,  and  the  lost  Lord  Cantelune  crawling  peace- 
fully about  my  library  all  the  while. 

"I  thought  you'd  enjoy  it,"  said  Miss  D'Eresby ; 
and  she  laughed  pleasantly  herself. 

Then  I  put  on  a  serious  face,  and  reproached  her 
for  all  the  trouble  she  had  given  us.  She  was  quite 
unmoved ;  she  only  said :  "Well,  something  had  to 
be  done,  you  know." 

It  was  no  use  trying  to  make  her  see  the  other 
side  of  the  matter;  and  I  began  to  consider  what 
I  had  better  do.  Here  was  the  lost  Lord  Cantelune 
in  my  house;  and  I  did  not  want  a  disappointed 
public  to  break  the  windows,  and  every  paper  in 
London  to  make  poor  jokes  about  my  being  a  re- 
ceiver of  stolen  babies.  I  thought  it  best  to  re- 
store it  to  its  home  quietly. 

I  rang  for  Richards  and  told  him  to  tell  Martha 
to  put  on  her  hat.  As  soon  as  she  came  I  sent  the 


1 78  ALICE  DEVINE 

angel-child  home,  telling  her  to  say  nothing  about 
her  exploit. 

"As  if  I  should!"  she  cried.  "Papa  never  does 
understand  things!" 

When  she  had  gone  I  sallied  out  of  the  back  door 
with  Martha  carrying  Lord  Cantelune  about  ten 
yards  behind  me.  Fortunately  he  was  still  asleep; 
and  she  could  keep  his  face  covered.  We  got  to 
the  Alpertons'  undetected.  The  door  opened  at 
once  to  my  knock;  and  she  slipped  up  the  steps 
and  into  the  house  in  a  jiffy.  I  slammed  the  door. 

At  first  there  were  great  rejoicings  over  the  re- 
covery of  Lord  Cantelune.  Then  the  Alpertons 
began  to  ask  questions;  and  when  they  heard  what 
had  happened,  they  were  furious  with  the  angel- 
child.  But  I  put  forward  the  other  side  of  the 
matter  firmly  and  several  times,  that  it  was  their 
business  to  know  that  their  baby  was  being  neg- 
lected; and  that  they  ought  to  be  deucedly  obliged 
to  the  angel-child  for  bringing  it  to  their  notice. 
I  got  them  calm  at  last;  and  then  I  came  away. 

I  went  into  the  garden  and  told  the  inspector 
that  the  lost  baby  had  been  recovered.  There  was  a 
wild  dash  of  reporters  to  the  Alpertons'  house,  but 
the  door  did  not  open.  They  came  dashing  back 


LOST  LORD  CANTELUNE  179 

to  me;  and  I  told  them  that  a  young  lady  had  seen 
Lord  Cantelune  trying  to  escape  from  his  perambu- 
lator, and  thinking  it  dangerous,  had  carried  him 
to  the  house  of  a  friend  where  he  had  spent  the 
afternoon.  I  did  not  disclose  the  name  of  the  young 
lady;  and  I  did  not  tell  them  that  I  was  the  friend. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

THE  angel-child  kept  her  own  counsel  about 
the  loss  of  Lord  Cantelune  in  the  noblest 
way;  and  I  met  all  the  questions  of  the  interested 
mothers  among  my  tenants  with  a  point-blank  re- 
fusal to  tell  them  anything  about  his  recovery.  I 
did  not  feel  that  people  would  think  that  either  the 
police  or  I  had  displayed  any  great  intelligence  in 
the  matter ;  and  so  the  less  said  about  it  the  better. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  it  for  a  day  or 
two  in  the  Gardens;  and  then  people  found  some- 
thing else  to  occupy  their  attention. 

I  was  beginning  to  make  an  odd  discovery;  my 
Uncle  Algernon  had  been  right  in  expecting  me  to 
grow  keen  about  the  Gardens.  The  more  I  worked 
at  running  them  the  keener  I  grew  about  them.  I 
,was  now  particularly  keen  on  their  being  spicker 
and  spanner  than  any  other  square  or  street,  or 
crescent  or  place,  in  Mayfair.  Jack  Thurman  said 

1 80 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  181 

that  I  was  growing  quite  touchy  about  them;  and 
sometimes  when  I  had  finished  saying  what  I 
thought  about  somebody's  untidy  window-boxes  or 
balcony  awning,  I  caught  Miss  Wishart  smiling  as 
if  I  were  really  amusing  her.  Then  I  had  the  happy 
idea  of  offering  a  prize  of  fifty  pounds  to  the  butler 
whose  house  was  kept  the  spickest  and  spannest 
throughout  the  year.  If  the  butlers  made  up  their 
minds  to  have  the  house  spick  and  span  the  tenants 
would  be  made  to  find  the  money. 

I  soon  found  that  it  was  working  all  right,  be- 
cause Tubby  Delamare  came  up  to  me  at  the  Pal- 
ladium one  afternoon  and  said : 

"I  say,  Garthoyle,  it's  a  bit  thick  you  offering 
this  prize  for  the  best-looking  house  in  the  Gar- 
dens. I  never  get  a  bit  of  peace  now  for  my  butler's 
worrying  me  to  do  something  or  other  to  the  front 
of  the  house.  As  soon  as  I  had  it  painted,  he  was 
at  me  for  new  window-boxes,  and  now  it's  fresh 
blinds  all  over  the  front  of  the  house." 

"And  very  nice  they'll  look,"  I  said. 

"But  I  put  in  fresh  blinds  two  years  ago;  and 
they'd  have  gone  another  two  years  quite  well," 
he  grumbled. 

"You  can't  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing;  and 


182  ALICE  DEVINE 

you  can't  have  it  too  often,"  I  said;  and  it  sounded 
to  me  like  a  philosopher. 

"That's  all  very  well,  but  I'm  spending  money 
to  improve  your  property,  and  then  you'll  raise  the 
rent  on  me,"  he  said. 

"I  can't  raise  the  rent  on  you  till  your  lease  ex- 
pires," I  said. 

"I  knew  that  was  the  game.  You're  growing  a 
regular  Shylock,"  growled  Tubby,  and  he  rolled 
away. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Number  16  was  beginning 
to  get  on  my  nerves.  Its  tenant  seemed  to  have 
shut  it  up  and  gone  away  for  a  long  holiday  at  the 
very  moment  at  which  it  wanted  painting  badly. 
Some  of  the  flowers,  too,  in  the  window-boxes  had 
died,  and  the  rest  were  straggling  all  over  the  plact 
in  a  disgustingly  untidy  way.  With  its  grimy  win- 
dows and  blistering  paint,  and  little  primeval  for- 
ests under  each  window  on  the  ground  floor  and 
the  first  floor,  it  was  a  perfect  eyesore,  spoiling  the 
look  of  the  whole  of  the  side  of  the  triangle  in 
which  it  stood. 

Perhaps  I  should  not  have  minded  it  much  if 
it  had  not  been  next  door  but  one  to  my  own  house. 
As  it  was  I  could  not  go  out  or  in  without  being 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  183 

annoyed,  or,  to  be  exact,  infuriated  by  the  sight 
of  it. 

I  found  that  three  years  before  my  uncle  had  let 
it  to  Sefior  Pedro  Vicenti,  a  South  American  mer- 
chant, on  a  lease  of  seven,  fourteen,  or  twenty-one 
years.  Plainly  I  had  this  infernal  foreigner,  with 
his  dirty  house,  spoiling  the  look  of  the  Gardens, 
for  at  any  rate  the  next  four  years.  Then  I'd 
clear  him  out,  if  money  or  law  could  do  it.  Till 
then  I  had  to  stick  it  out.  I  could  not  conceive 
what  had  induced  my  uncle  to  let  the  house  to  a 
foreigner. 

I  wrote  letter  after  letter  to  Vicenti,  some  to  his 
bankers,  some  to  Number  16,  on  the  chance  of  their 
being  forwarded  to  him  by  the  post-office,  asking 
him  to  clean  and  paint  his  house  and  have  the 
window-boxes  refilled.  The  first  letters  were  firm, 
the  later  ones  were  firmer.  I  got  no  answer  to 
any  of  them.  It  looked  as  if  Vicenti  had  buried 
himself  for  the  time  being  in  some  out-of-the-way 
part  of  South  America  where  there  were  no  post- 
offices  and  nothing  could  be  done  till  he  came  out 
of  it  and  struck  civilization  again.  Number  16 
would  remain  an  eyesore  until  his  return.  It  would 
have  aggravated  the  ordinary  house-agent  beyond 


1 84  ALICE  DEVINE 

endurance,  but  I  was  landlord  as  well.    It  was  in- 
furiating. 

One  afternoon  I  came  out  into  the  central  garden 
to  smoke  a  cigar  and  talk  to  the  children.  There 
I  found  Alice  Devine  and  the  angel-child.  The 
angel-child  was  in  great  feather  because  she  was 
finding  Lord  Cantelune's  new  nurse  quite  satis- 
factory. I  did  not  join  her  in  her  satisfaction,  for 
as  I  came  into  the  garden  I  had  unfortunately 
looked  back,  and  had  had  a  full  view  of  the  dis- 
gusting appearance  of  Number  16. 

Presently  Alice  said:  "What's  the  matter?  You 
seem  quite  depressed." 

"I  think  he's  very  disagreeable — quite  piggish," 
said  the  angel-child  frankly. 

"It's  that  beastly  house — Number  16 — it  makes 
me  positively  sick.  I'm  expecting  to  see  a  rich  crop 
of  thistles  in  those  window-boxes  before  long,"  I 
said  grumpily. 

"Why  don't  you  have  them  cut  ?"  said  Alice. 

"I've  no  right  to  interfere  with  my  tenants* 
window-boxes,"  I  said. 

"If  I  only  did  the  things  I  had  a  right  to  do,  I 
should  find  it  dull,"  said  the  angel-child. 

"I  don't  suppose  your  tenant  would  ever  know; 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  185 

and  if  he  did,  he  would  probably  be  much  obliged 
to  you,"  said  Alice.  "After  all  he's  in  South 
America." 

"By  jove!    That's  an  idea,"  I  said. 

It  was  an  idea  that  did  not  want  any  thinking 
about.  The  thing  to  do  was  to  act. 

"Come  along,  let's  find  a  gardener  and  have  it 
done  at  once,"  I  said. 

They  came  along  briskly;  the  mere  fact  that  I 
was  going  to  do  a  forbidden  thing  seemed  to  make 
it  quite  attractive  to  the  angel-child. 

Of  course  the  first  gardener  we  found  was  Fred- 
erick. I  told  him  to  get  a  ladder  and  come  and 
trim  the  window-boxes  at  Number  16.  I  was  im- 
patient to  see  it  done  and  I  went  with  him.  He 
seemed  to  think  he  had  got  three  days'  quiet  work 
before  him.  I  did  not  see  it  in  that  way,  and  I 
bustled  him  along  hard — in  fact  I  got  a  hustle  on 
him,  as  they  used  to  say  in  the  States  when  I  was 
there.  In  ten  minutes  I  had  him  clipping  away  at 
the  boxes  on  the  first  floor.  I  stood  on  the  steps 
of  the  house,  directing  his  labors;  and  Alice  and 
the  angel-child  stood  by  my  side.  .The  angel-child 
made  suggestions.  Frederick  did  not  seem  to  be 
able  to  do  anything  quite  to  her  liking. 


1 86  ALICE  DEVINE 

Frederick  had  clipped  the  boxes  in  the  two  side 
windows  of  the  drawing-room,  when  of  a  sudden 
he  gave  an  awful  yell,  came  tumbling  down  the 
ladder  and  hit  his  head  a  thundering  crack  on  the 
pavement. 

The  angel-child  laughed,  and  Alice  and  I  ran  to 
him.  He  seemed  stunned.  I  propped  him  up 
against  the  steps,  ran  to  my  own  house  and  fetched 
Richards.  We  carried  Frederick  into  my  office  and 
set  him  very  gently  on  a  sofa.  Alice  and  Miss 
Wishart  bustled  about  and  wrapped  wet  cloths 
round  his  head,  and  a  footman  ran  for  a  doctor. 
Frederick  began  to  groan;  and  there  was  a  bump 
as  big  as  a  hen's  egg  on  the  top  of  his  head.  We 
waited  anxiously  for  the  doctor,  and  I  saw  that 
the  angel-child  was  beginning  to  look  really  fright- 
ened. 

Then  Frederick  came  to  himself  and  said: 
"Workman's  Compensation  Act." 

I  was  relieved,  though  Frederick  groaned  louder 
than  ever.  Then  the  doctor  came  and  examined 
him. 

When  he  had  done  the  doctor  said :  "You're  all 
right,  my  man — only  a  bump  on  the  head." 

Frederick  only  uttered  a  deep  groan.     The  doc- 


TEE  EMPTY  HOUSE  187 

tor  ordered  the  wet  cloth  to  be  kept  round  his  head, 
and  to  be  changed  again  when  it  got  warm. 

I  went  with  him  to  the  door,  and  he  said :  "Your 
gardener's  got  a  good  thick  skull,  Lord  Garthoyle. 
It's  a  good  job  he  fell  on  it.  He  might  have  broken 
something." 

I  went  back  to  Frederick  and  found  him  groaning 
loudly. 

"WHat  the  poor  fellow  wants  is  a  stiff  brandy- 
and-soda,"  I  said  to  Richards. 

There  was  a  break  in  Frederick's  groaning,  then 
he  went  on  again  louder  than  ever. 

Richards  brought  the  brandy-and-soda,  mixed  it, 
propped  Frederick  against  the  back  of  the  sofa  and 
held  the  glass  to  his  lips. 

Frederick  emptied  it  and  said  feebly :    "More."    \ 

"Give  the  poor  fellow  another,"  I  said;  and 
Richards  gave  him  another. 

Frederick  swallowed  it  firmly,  then  he  moaned: 
"I  shan't  be  able  to  work  fer  weeks  an*  weeks." 

"How  came  you  to  fall  off  the  ladder?"  I  said. 

"It  was  the  fyce — the  'orrible  fyce  wiv  eyes  like 
a  devil.  It  give  me  a  start,"  said  Frederick. 

"Well,  that  was  a  silly  fancy  to  bump  your  head 
for,"  I  said. 


188  ALICE  DEVINE 

"It  warn't  no  fancy;  I  seed  it  plyne.  It  'ad 
pulled  the  blind  on  one  side  an'  was  a-starin'  at  me," 
said  Frederick  in  a  firm  voice. 

"Rubbish.    The  house  is  empty,"  I  said. 

With  two  brandies-and-sodas  in  him,  Frederick 
proved  of  a  very  argumentative  disposition.  He 
sat  up  to  discuss  the  matter.  He  would  have  it  that 
it  was  no  fancy.  He  had  looked  up  from  his  work 
to  see  a  horrible  face  staring  at  him  round  the  cor- 
ner of  the  blind.  It  was  such  a  devilish  face  that 
the  sight  of  it  had  given  him  such  a  start  that  he 
had  lost  his  balance  and  fallen  off  the  ladder.  He 
grew  more  and  more  excited  about  it  the  more 
firmly;  I  expressed  my  disbelief  in  it.  He  forgot 
all  about  the  Workman's  Compensation  Act  and 
his  weeks  and  weeks  of  holiday;  and  at  last, 
arguing  furiously,  he  walked  to  Number  16  with 
me.  I  climbed  the  ladder  myself;  there  was  no  face 
there.  I  rapped  the  window ;  no  face  peered  at  me 
round  the  jcorner  of  the  blind.  The  blind  never 
stirred. 

I  gave  Frederick  half-a-sovereign  to  soothe  the 
pain  of  the  bump  on  his  head,  and  fetched  another 
gardener,  had  the  rest  of  the  window-boxes 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  189 

trimmed  and  thought  very  little  more  of  Frederick's 
silly  fancy. 

But  a  night  or  two  later,  coming  back  from 
playing  baccarat  and  talking  to  Alice  at  Scruton's, 
I  came  upon  Brookes,  the  most  intelligent  of  the 
policemen  who  protect  the  Gardens,  in  front  of 
Number  16.  I  remembered  Frederick's  story  and 
stopped  and  told  him  about  it. 

Brookes  knows  Frederick,  and  he  said:  "Lor', 
m'Lord,  there's  nothin'  in  what  'e  sees  or  don't  see. 
If  'e  seed  a  purply-green  fyce,  it  wouldn't  have  sur- 
prised me,  seein'  the  amount  of  booze  'e  gets  out- 
side of  in  a  day." 

"That's  what  I  thought,"  I  said. 

"All  the  syme,  as  it  'appens,  I'm  keepin'  my  eye 
on  this  'ere  'ouse  myself.  Though  it  is  empty, 
there's  people  'angs  about  it,  m'Lord." 

"I  wish  they'd  clean  these  filthy  windows,  then. 
They're  a  disgrace  to  the  Gardens,"  I  said. 

"You  may  well  say  so,  m'Lord,"  said  Brookes 
in  a  very  sympathetic  way. 

He  went  on  to  tell  me  that  he  had  seen  men — 
several  men — foreigners — hanging  about  the  house 
at  night,  for  the  last  fortnight,  two  or  three  of  them 


'190  ALICE  DEVINE 

at  a  time.  They  were  not  the  foreign  refuse  with 
which  London  is  getting  choked,  but  well-dressed 
men,  sometimes  even  in  evening  dress.  One  night 
he  had  seen  two  of  them  come  out  of  the  porch 
and  asked  them  what  they  were  doing  in  it.  They 
said  that  they  were  friends  of  Serior  Vicenti  and 
had  knocked  to  see  if  he  were  at  home.  I  agreed 
with  Brookes  that  it  was  idiotic  to  leave  a  house 
like  that  without  a  caretaker  in  it. 

But  these  men  seemed  to  me  suspicious;  and  I 
wondered  if  there  were  anything  wrong  with  the 
house.  But  I  thought  it  would  be  safe  enough  if 
Brookes  were  keeping  an  eye  on  it;  for  he  is  an 
uncommonly  intelligent  policeman,  and  well  on  his 
way  to  be  promoted  to  the  rank  of  sergeant.  I 
made  a  point  of  looking  at  the  house  myself  when 
I  came  home  at  night  and  of  trying  the  door  of  it 
as  I  passed. 

About  a  week  later  I  came  home  about  half  past 
eleven,  and  before  going  to  bed  I  went  out  on 
the  balcony.  There  was  a  bright  moon ;  and  I  saw 
a  policeman,  probably  Brookes — going  up  the  left 
side  of  the  triangle.  Then  a  woman  in  black 
passed  quickly  along  the  pavement  beneath  me  and 
slipped  up  the  steps  into  the  porch  of  Number  16. 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  191 

I  lost  no  time.  I  ran  down-stairs,  let  myself  out 
of  the  house  and  walked  past  Number  16.  I  saw 
a  dark  figure  against  its  door  and  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  white  cheek  and  a  glimmering  eye  as  the  wo- 
man turned  her  face  to  see  who  passed.  I  walked 
on  to  the  corner,  keeping  my  head  over  my  shoul- 
der to  see  if  she  came  out  of  the  porch.  She' did 
not.  I  waited  three  minutes,  walked  quietly  back, 
and  saw  the  dark  figure  still  in  the  porch,  close  to 
the  door.  I  walked  up  the  steps  and  said  sharply: 
"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

She  gave  a  startled  little  cry.  Then  she  said 
in  a  spirited  tone :  "Eet  ees  no  business  of  yours." 

It  was  a  pleasant  voice — the  voice  of  a  lady. 

"Pardon  me,"  I  said.  "It  is  very  much  my  busi- 
ness. This  house  is  mine;  my  tenant  is  away  and 
in  his  absence  I  keep  an  eye  on  it." 

"Oh,  ees  eet  zo?"  she  said  coolly;  and  I  fancied 
that  she  slipped  something  into  her  pocket. 

"Yes,  it  is;  and  I  should  like  an  explanation," 
I  said. 

"Eet  ees  veree  simple,"  she  said  slowly.  "Senor 
Vicenti  ees  my  oncle.  I  am  zeeing  if  he  ees  at  ze 
house.  I  am  coom  to  London  lately;  and  I  find 
heem  gone  from  eet." 


192  ALICE  DEVINE 

It  was  a  simple,  natural  explanation;  and  it 
came  straight  off  her  tongue,  but  I  did  not  believe 
it. 

"It's  very  late,"  I  said. 

"Not  to  zeek  an  oncle,"  she  said  with  a  soft 
laugh.  "I  weesh  to  zee  heem  veree  mooch.  I  do 
not  know  when  he  cooms  back  to  his  house." 

"Well,  if  there  were  any  one  in  the  house,  they 
would  have  come  to  the  door  long  before  now," 
I  said. 

"Zat  ees  true,"  she  said  with  a  little  sigh.  "But 
once  more  I  weel  try." 

And  with  that  she  beat  a  thundering  tattoo  on 
the  door  with  the  knocker.  As  the  knocks  went 
ringing  out  on  the  quiet  Gardens,  I  realized  that 
she  had  not  knocked  before.  Of  course  she  might 
have  been  ringing. 

"If  there  ees  any  one  in  ze  house,  zey  weel  hear 
that,"  she  said;  and  she  laughed  a  queer  soft 
laugh,  with  a  kind  of  threat  in  it,  uncomfortable 
to  hear. 

And  then  she  came  down  the  steps  without  wait- 
ing a  moment  to  hear  if  her  knocking  had  roused 
any  one.    It  was  an  odd  thing  to  do. 
v     In  the  full  light  of  the  moon  I  saw  that  she  was 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  193 

a  very  pretty  girl,  with  very  red  lips  in  a  pale  face, 
and  large  velvety  eyes.  I  fancied  that  they  looked 
at  me  in  a  rather  mocking  way. 

We  walked  along  to  the  corner  and  I  turned 
down  Carisbrooke  Street  with  her. 

Then  she  stopped  and  said:  "Zere  ees  no  need 
for  you  to  coom  with  me." 

"I  don't  think  that  your  uncle  would  like  you  to 
be  walking  about  alone  at  this  hour;  and  since  he 
is  my  tenant,  he  would  think  it  only  proper  that  I 
should  see  you  home,  or  at  any  rate  put  you  into 
a  cab,"  I  said. 

I  meant  to  hear  the  address  she  gave  the  cabman. 

She  looked  at  my  face  and  she  saw  that  I  meant 
to  come.  Perhaps  I  was  looking  obstinate.  I  was 
certainly  feeling  obstinate. 

"Veree  well,"  she  said,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
"But  zere  ees  no  need.  My  motor-car  ees  waiting 
for  me  at  ze  end  of  ze  street." 

We  went  on;  and  half-way  down  the  street  I 
said:  "You're  expecting  your  uncle  to  return 
soon?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  said. 

"Well,  I  hope  he'll  wash  his  windows  when  he 
does  come,"  I  said. 


i94  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Wash — hees — windows?"  she  said;  and  she 
stared  at  me  with  her  eyes  wide  open. 

"Yes;  the  windows  of  his  house.  They're  a 
disgrace  to  the  Gardens.  Do  you  think  that  you 
could  have  them  washed?" 

"Deesgracef ul ? — Me? — Oh,  but  you  Eengleesh 
— you  are  fonny,"  she,  said,  and  laughed. 

It  was  a  charming*  laugh;  but  I  could  not  see 
anything  funny  about  the  windows  of  the  eyesore. 
They  were  disgusting. 

Sure  enough,  at  the  bottom  of  the  street,  a  big 
motor-car  was  standing  against  the  curb.  I  opened 
the  door  of  it  for  her  and  she  stepped  into-  it. 

"Good  night,"  she  said. 

"Good  night,"  said  I;  and  the  car  started  off 
at  a  smart  pace. 

Of  course  there  was  no  taxi  in  sight.  If  there 
had  been,  I  should  certainly  have  taken  the  liberty 
of  seeing  where  the  car  went. 

The  car  went  round  the  corner  and  I  turned  back. 
I  wished  I  had  asked  her  to  inform  me  immediately 
of  her  uncle's  return,  that  I  might  have  started  on 
him  at  once  about  the  disgraceful  appearance  of 
the  outside  of  his  house. 

I  came  home  wondering  about  her.     Certainly 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  195 

she  did  not  seem  the  kind  of  person  to  feel  anxious 
about  She  was  not  one  of  the  criminal  class,  of 
that  I  was  quite  sure.  I  looked  about  for  her  for 
a  day  or  two;  but  I  saw  nothing  of  her.  She  did 
not  come  again  to  seek  her  uncle  at  any  time  when  I 
was  in  the  Gardens.  Neither  did  Senor  Vicenti 
return,  nor  were  any  preparations  made  for  his 
return,  nor  were  the  windows  washed. 

It  was  four  or  five  days  later  that  coming  home 
one  night  I  met  Brookes  at  the  corner  of  Caris- 
brooke  Street.  I  stopped  and  asked  him  if  he  had 
seen  any  more  suspicious  characters  lingering  about 
Number  16. 

"Well,  not  lingering,  m'Lord.  But  last  night  I 
seed,  or  anyways  I  thought  I  seed,  two  men  and  a 
woman  come  down  the  steps  of  it.  But  I  couldn't 
be  sure.  I  was  right  the  other  side  of  the  Gardens ; 
and  they  hooked  it  off  down  Carisbrooke  Street 
an'  was  out  of  sight  long  before  I  could  get  round." 

"It's  all  very  odd,"  I  said.  "And  then  again, 
it  mayn't  be  anything  at  all.  Just  friends  or  busi- 
ness people  anxious  to  see  Senor  Vicenti." 

I  wished  him  good  night  and  went  on  home.  I 
just  had  time  to  mix  myself  a  lemon-squash,  and 
was  drinking  it,  up  in  the  library,  where  drinks 


196  ALICE  DEVINE 

and  biscuits  are  always  set  for  me,  in  case  I  come 
home  late  and  am  hungry  or  thirsty,  when  I  heard 
a  loud  knocking  at  one  of  the  front  doors  near.  I 
went  out  on  the  balcony  and  found  that  it  came 
from  Number  16.  I  ran  down-stairs  and  along  to 
it,  expecting  to  find  the  pretty  niece  of  Senor 
Vicenti  again  seeking  her  uncle.  Instead  of  her  I 
found  Brookes  in  its  porch.  [The  door  was  ajar, 
and  as  I  ran  up  the  steps,  he  rang  and  knocked 
again. 

"This  is  a  rum  start,  m'Lord,"  he  said.  "I  comes 
up  the  steps  to  take  a  look  at  this  door;  I  gives  it 
a  shove  and  open  it  goes.  I  don't  like  the  looks 
of  it  at  all.  The  lock  'as  bin  tampered  with  an' 
not  to-night.  I've  'ad  me  eyes  on  this  'ere  'ouse 
all  the  evening.  I  think  I'd  better  find  Barnett  an' 
take  a  look  round  it" 

"There's  no  need  to  fetch  Barnett,  I'll  go  round 
it  with  you,"  said  I. 

Brookes  hesitated  a  moment;  then  he  said: 
"Very  well,  m'Lord,"  and  he  opened  the  door  wider 
and  went  in. 

I  followed  him.  The  light  of  his  lantern  cut 
but  a  small  wedge  in  the  darkness  of  the  big  empty 
hall.  He  drew  the  door  to  behind  us.  I  noticed 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  197 

an  odd  unpleasant  smell — not  exactly  musty — 
but  rather  like  it  I  could  not  place  it,  though  I 
was  sure  that  I  had  smelt  it  before.  Then  I  stum- 
bled over  a  basket  standing  a  yard  or  so  inside 
the  hall. 

Brookes  turned  the  light  of  his  lantern  on  it; 
and  we  saw  that  it  was  about  two  feet  square  and 
the  lid  was  shut.  In  the  lid  was  an  odd  little  trap^ 
door  about  four  inches  square,  and  that  was  open. 

"It's  a  rummy-lookin'  basket.  I've  never  seed 
one  with  an  extra  lid  like  that,"  said  Brookes ;  and 
then  he  added:  "It  do  smell — like  as  if  it  'ad 
'ad  an  hanimal  in  it." 

"Yes :  but  what  animal  ?"  I  said. 

"I  can't  rightly  call  it  to  mind,"  said  Brookes. 
As  he  spoke  I  took  a  step  forward  and  tripped 
over  a  wire  stretched  across  the  hall,  about  six 
inches  from  the  floor;  and  on  the  instant  a  shrill 
bell  started  ringing  quickly,  high  up  in  the  house. 

"Electric  burglar  alarm,"  said  Brookes. 

He  stepped  forward  to  take  a  look  at  the  wire  my 
foot  had  struck,  his  own  foot  struck  another  wire 
running  parallel  to  it  and  set  another  shrill  bell 
ringing. 

We  stood  quite  still.    I  was  waiting,  for  some  one 


198  ALICE  DEVINE 

to  call  to  us  from  the  top  of  the  house.  I  was  sure 
that  some  one  would  call.  But  no  one  did,  nor 
was  there  any  stir.  Only  the  shrill  bells  rang. 

Brookes  swept  the  light  of  his  lantern  over  the 
floor  of  the  hall.  It  was  mapped  out  into  squares 
by  a  network  of  wires. 

"If  there  ain't  a  few,"  he  said. 

"Rather  silly  to  have  the  house  full  of  burglar 
alarms  and  nobody  in  it  to  hear  them,"  I  said. 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Brookes;  and  I  noticed 
that  we  were  both  talking  in  whispers. 

Then  he  shouted:  "Is  there  any  one  up-stairs? 
It's  thepleece!" 

There  was  no  answer.  One  of  the  bells  stopped 
ringing;  the  other  rang  on. 

"Well,  we'd  better  look  into  it,"  I  said. 

Stepping  over  the  wires,  we  went  round  the  hall 
trying  the  doors.  All  of  them  were  locked  and 
there  were  no  keys  in  them.  Then  Brookes'  foot 
struck  another  wire  and  set  another  bell  ringing. 

Then  we  came  to  the  stairs.  At  the  foot  of  them 
we  were  brought  up  short  by  a  barricade  of  barbed 
wire. 

"Why,  hang  it  all!  The  house  is  fortified 
against  an  assault!  This  isn't  burglars!"  I  cried, 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  199 

"It's  a  rum  start,"  said  Brookes. 

"And  nobody  would  fortify  an  empty  house,"  I 
exclaimed. 

"Hush,  I  thought  I  'card  somebody  movin'," 
said  Brookes;  and  then  he  shouted:  "Hi!  LYou 
there  up-stairs!  It's  the  pleece.  Your  front  door 
wants  locking." 

His  voice  went  echoing  away  up  the  stairs,  about 
the  landings  and  died  away  at  the  top  of  the 
house.  There  was  no  answer.  Then  the  last 
alarm  stopped  ringing;  and  all  was  very  still.  It 
was  oddly  creepy  too.  The  shaft  of  light  from 
the  lantern  left  a  lot  of  darkness  about  us;  and 
there  was  the  odd  smell. 

"We  must  try  up-stairs,"  I  said. 

Brookes  turned  his  light  on  the  barricade; 
and  I  saw  that  it  was  a  set  of  barbed  wire  screens, 
about  five  feet  high,  half  of  them  hinged  to  the 
banisters,  half  to  the  wall.  They  were  overlapping 
one  another.  By  drawing  the  nearest  toward  one 
and  pushing  back  to  the  next  to  it,  a  passage  was 
opened  through  the  barricade.  It  was  not  very 
difficult  to  make  one's  way  along.  But  it  was  slow 
going,  and  it  only  let  one  man  through  at  a  time. 
It  was  practically  impassable  for  a  woman,  if  she 


200  ALICE  DEVINE 

were  wearing  a  skirt.  Moreover,  one  was  helpless 
inside  it,  since  one  had  to  keep  one's  arms  to  one's 
sides,  or  up  above  one's  head.  A  man  on  the  flight 
of  stairs  above  could  have  shot  down  any  number 
of  men,  through  the  banisters,  before  the  barricade 
could  be  forced.  He  would  have  been  out  of  sight 
to  any  one  standing  in  the  hall.  It  was  plainly 
enough  meant  to  stop  an  assault  in  force;  and  it 
was  an  odd  find  in  Garthoyle  Gardens. 

I  started  to  get  past  it  and  worked  my  way 
gingerly  through  the  screens;  it  was  not  very  diffi- 
cult and  I  did  not  tear  my  coat.  Then  I  held 
the  lantern  to  light  Brookes  through  it.  He  caught 
his  thicker  coat  once  in  one  of  the  barbs;  but  he 
disentangled  it  without  tearing  the  cloth. 

We  had  just  come  through,  when  I  heard  a 
faint  rustle  higher  up  the  stairs.  I  turned  the  light 
of  the  lantern  on  them,  and  ten  steps  up  it  fell  on 
a  snake — a  snake  with  a  big  head  reared  above  its 
coils.  It  was  so  unexpected,  and  everything  was 
so  odd,  that  it  looked  to  me  as  big  as  a  ship's 
hawser. 

I  gasped,  and  I  heard  Brookes  gasp. 

"Over  the  banisters,"  I  cried. 

Brookes  was  over  them  in  a  jiffy.     I  threw  the 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  201 

lantern  at  the  snake,  slipped  over  them  myself,  and 
landed  on  top  of  Brookes. 

We  did  not  say  anything.  We  started  for  the 
front  door,  tripping  and  stumbling  over  the  wire, 
setting  off  alarum  after  alarum,  till  the  whole  of 
the  top  of  the  house  was  one  shrill  jangling 
ringing. 

Out  in  the  porch  we  drew  the  door  to  and  looked 
at  each  other,  and  wiped  our  faces  with  our  hand- 
kerchiefs. 

"Well,  that  was  nice.  Snakes  in  the  dark  are  a 
trifle  thick,"  I  said. 

"They  are,  m'Lord,  It's  a  daylight  job,  this  is," 
said  Brookes. 

"So  that  was  what  the  hall  and  the  basket  smelt 
of — that  snake,"  I  said. 

"That's  what  it  was.  It  must  live  in  that  basket 
— like  as  if  it  werje  a  kennel.  It's  the  queerest 
watch-dog  I  ever  see — likewise  the  nastiest  to 
tackle,"  said  Brookes. 

I  thought  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  I  said:  "I 
don't  believe  it  is  a  watch-dog.  It  would  be  too 
difficult  to  handle.  No.  It  doesn't  belong  to  the 
house.  It's  been  brought  here.  I  believe  it  was 
brought  last  night — in  that  basket." 


202  ALICE  DEVINE 

"But  who'd  bring  a  snake  in  a  basket?"  said 
Brookes. 

"Probably  the  people  you  saw  come  away  from 
the  house  last  night." 

"But  what  would  they  bring  it  for,  m'Lord?  It 
ain't  a  thing  to  joke  with.  It  looked  to  me  a  regular 
boar-constrictor,  like  you  sees  at  the  Zoo,"  said 
Brookes. 

"Burglar  alarums  and  barbed  wire  are  no  good 
against  a  snake.  It  can  crawl  anywhere.  It's  not 
a  watch-dog.  It's  just  the  other  thing — a  what- 
d'you-call-it? — an  instrument  of  destruction,"  I 
said. 

"That's  a  rummy  idea,"  said  Brookes. 

"I've  seen  it  in  a  story  called — what  was  it  called  ? 
The  Black  Man's  Servant.  A  snake  was  used  to 
commit  a  murder  in  it.  Somebody  else  has  been 
reading  that  story,"  I  said. 

"I  always  says  as  them  detective  stories  does  a 
lot  of  'arm — especially  to  growing  boys,"  said 
Brookes.  "You  think  as  'ow  it's  meant  for  Mr. 
Vicenti  when  'e  comes  'ome — a  kind  of  unpleasant 
welcome  like?" 

"I  don't  see  any  reason  to  suppose  that  he  has 
gone  away.  You  don't  fortify  a  house  like  that  and 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  203 

then  clear  out  of  it.  He  may  be  kept  a  prisoner  in 
some  room  by  the  fear  of  that  snake,"  I  said. 

"Then  he'd  'ave  called  out  to  us  when  I  called 
to  'im,"  said  Brookes. 

"It  does  look  bad,"  I  said. 

"This  job's  too  big  for  you  an'  me  to  'andle, 
m'Lord,"  said  Brookes.  "An'  the  sooner  I  lets  the 
inspector  know  about  it  the  better.'* 

"All  right,"  I  said.  "I'll  go  round  to  the  police- 
station  and  tell  him  about  it,  while  you  keep  watch 
on  the  house." 

"Thank  you,  m'Lord;  that  will  save  time,"  said 
Brookes. 

I  went  briskly  round  to  the  police-station  and 
told  the  inspector  what  we  had  found  at  Number 
1 6.  He  did  not  seem  greatly  astonished,  though 
he  said  that  it  was  a  rum  start.  Of  course,  since 
his  work  lies  in  Mayfair,  he  is  used  to  queer  things. 

He  put  a  sergeant  in  charge  of  the  station  and 
came  back  with  me  at  once.  Brookes  had  heard 
no  sound  in  the  house  while  I  had  been  gone.  The 
inspector  opened  the  door  a  little  way  and  swept 
the  light  of  his  lantern  round  the  hall.  We  could 
not  see  the  snake;  it  had  not  come  down  the  stairs. 
Perhaps  my  throwing  the  lantern  at  it  had  fright- 


204  ALICE  DEVINE 

ened  it  up  them.  After  a  short  conference  with 
Brookes,  the  inspector  also  decided  that  to  explore 
the  house  in  the  face  of  a  snake  behind  the  wire 
entanglements  was  not  a  night  job.  He  would  wait 
for  the  daylight.  I  offered  to  help,  to  bring  a  gun 
and  shoot  the  snake  for  them;  and  the  inspector 
accepted  my  offer  at  once.  He  decided  that  four 
o'clock  would  be  soon  enough  to  start  the  exami- 
nation of  the  house. 

I  went  back  to  my  house,  awoke  Mowart,  and 
told  him  to  wake  me  at  half  past  three  and  have 
some  coffee  ready  for  me.  Then  I  went  to  bed. 
Mowart  called  me  at  half  past  three;  and  while  I 
had  my  bath  and  dressed,  took  some  coffee  and 
biscuits  out  to  the  inspector  and  his  men.  Then  I 
had  some  coffee  and  biscuits  myself.  I  put  on  a 
pair  of  shooting-boots  and  thick  leather  gaiters, 
took  a  gun,  and  went  round  to  Number  16. 

I  found  the  inspector,  Brookes  and  two  other 
men  ready  at  the  door.  I  led  the  way  in,  with  my 
gun  ready.  The  hall  was  very  dim,  but  Brookes 
drew  up  the  blinds;  and  the  light  streamed  in.  It 
looked  in  the  daylight  a  very  ordinary  hall  indeed, 
but  for  the  network  of  wires  that  covered  the 
floor.  All  the  creepiness  had  gone  with  the  dark- 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  205 

ness,  but  not  the  smell.  There  was  no  snake  in  it. 
The  inspector  examined  the  basket;  and  we  found 
that  it  was  not  a  special  make,  but  just  an  ordinary 
basket  with  a  piece  cut,  rather  roughly,  out  of  its 
lid,  and  fastened  to  it  with  hinges  of  string  to  make 
a  little  trap-door. 

"I  don't  think  we're  going  to  get  anything  out 
of  this — amatoor  work/'  said  the  inspector;  and 
he  set  the  basket  down. 

The  doors  of  the  rooms  opening  into  the  hall 
were  locked,  and  there  were  no  keys  in  them.  The 
door  leading  into  the  back  of  the  house  was  also 
locked ;  and  there  was  no  key  in  it. 

We  went  to  the  staircase,  which  was  in  a  good 
light  from  the  hall  window.  The  snake  was  not  on 
the  bottom  flight  of  stairs.  I  wormed  my  way 
through  the  barricade;  and  I  was  a  bit  uncom- 
fortable while  I  was  doing  it  and  glad  to  get  to  the 
other  side.  If  the  snake  had  come  at  me  while  I 
was  in  the  middle  of  it,  I  should  have  been  help- 
less. I  could  not  possibly  have  used  my  gun.  I 
walked  up  to  the  landing  and  drew  up  the  blind. 
There  was  no  snake  on  the  second  flight. 

The  inspector  and  the  policemen  came  through 
the  barricade;  and  we  went  up  to  the  second  floor. 


206  ALICE  DEVINE 

I  stood  on  the  top  of  the  stairs,  looking  about 
me,  when  Brookes,  who  stood  just  behind  me,  cried : 
"There  he  goes,  m'Lord!  At  the  end  of  the 
passage!" 

In  the  dimly-lighted  corridor  facing  me  some- 
thing was  moving  along  the  wainscoting.  I  threw 
up  my  gun  and  put  a  charge  of  shot  into  it.  The 
report  of  the  gun  fairly  bellowed  about  the  house; 
and  we  all  stood  still  for  a  minute,  listening.  There 
wasn't  a  sound ;  yet  that  bang  had  been  loud  enough 
to  wake  the  dead. 

"There  ain't  nobody  in  this  'ouse — except  us," 
said  one  of  the  policemen. 

"Nobody  alive,"  said  I. 

We  went  along  the  corridor;  and  Brookes  pulled 
up  the  blind  of  the  window  at  the  end  of  it.  The 
snake  was  quite  dead,  fairly  riddled  with  shot.  I 
picked  it  up  and  looked  at  it. 

"I  say,  this  isn't  the  snake  that  bolted  us  last 
night.  It's  much  smaller,  and  it  hasn't  such  a  big 
head,"  I  said. 

"It's  a  lot  smaller,  m'Lord,"  said  Brookes. 

"Ah,  you  saw  it  in*a  bad  light;  and  you  were 
startled,"  said  the  inspector. 

"No;  it  is  smaller.    I'm  sure  of  it,"  I  said;  and 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  207 

I  thought  for  a  minute.  "And  after  all,  why  should 
there  be  only  one  snake?  That  basket  would  hold 
a  dozen,"  I  added. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  thought,  and  we  looked 
at  one  another  uncomfortably.  I  slipped  another 
Cartridge  into  my  gun.  Fortunately,  I  had,  with- 
out thinking,  put  a  handful  into  my  pocket. 

We  moved  cautiously  on,  and  I  led  the  way. 
The  doors  of  some  of  the  rooms  on  the  first  floor 
were  open,  and  I  went  into  each  of  them  first,  with 
my  gun  ready.  The  first  two  rooms — a  library  and 
a  smoking-room — were  empty.  The  third  room 
was  a  drawing-room,  and  as  I  went  into  it  I  heard 
a  rustle.  The  blinds  were  down  and  the  room  was 
dim. 

"Keep  out!"  I  cried,  went  to  one  of  the  windows 
and  jerked  up  the  blind. 

Ten  feet  from  me,  in  an  easy  chair,  a  big-headed 
snake  was  rearing  itself  up.  I  blew  its  head  off. 
At  the  bang  of  the  gun  two  smaller  snakes  came 
darting  out  of  hiding. 

I  shouted,  "Shut  the  door!"  and  jumped  on  a 
chair. 

The  door  banged  to  and  the  snakes  darted 
quickly  backward  and  forward  along  and  across 


208  ALICE  DEVINE 

the  room.  I  cut  one  clean  in  two  with  the  other 
barrel.  Then  I  reloaded,  and  when  the  smoke  had 
cleared  a  little,  I  shot  the  other.  Then  I  waited  a 
while  to  see  if  any  more  came  out,  but  none  did. 
I  called  out  that  it  was  all  right  and  the  police- 
men came  in.  I  had  made  a  mess  of  the  room; 
I  had  cut  the  back  of  the  easy  chair  to  ribbons 
and  spoiled  the  carpet. 

We  examined  the  dead  snakes,  and  Brookes  and 
I  both  agreed  that  the  big-headed  snake,  which 
I  had  shot  in  the  easy  chair,  was  the  one  we  had 
seen  on  the  stairs.  Then  I  went  to  the  middle 
window,  in  which  was  the  window-box  Frederick 
had  been  clipping  when  he  fell,  and  examined  the 
blind.  It  was  very  dusty,  and  on  one  side  near  its 
e^Sge  were  finger-prints.  Frederick  had  been  right : 
some  one  had  drawn  the  blind  on  one  side  and 
looked  at  him  round  the  edge  of  it.  The  house  had 
not  been  empty. 

There  were  no  more  snakes  in  any  of  the  other 
rooms  on  the  first  floor.  When  we  had  made  sure 
of  it  we  went  to  the  staircase  of  the  second  floor. 
There  was  a  barricade  at  the  bottom  of  it — a  large 
mass  of  barbed  wire — but  it  was  drawn  up  close 
to  the  ceiling,  and  could  be  let  down  with  a  rope 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  209 

to  fill  the  whole  width  of  the  staircase  to- a  height 
of  six  feet.  It  was  a  very  clever  idea.  I  led  the 
way  up  the  stairs,  and  was  a  few  steps  up  the 
second  flight  when  a  big  snake  came  quickly  over 
the  top  stair  right  down  at  me.  I  fired  from  the 
hip;  it  gave  a  jump,  pitched  down  the  stairs, 
hitting  my  leg  as  it  passed,  and  fell  a  squirming, 
hissing  heap  on  the  landing.  I  fired  the  other  bar- 
rel into  it  as  the  policemen  fell  tumbling  over  one 
another  down  the  lower  flight. 

I  was  beginning  to  enjoy  it;  but  then  I  had  a 
gun.  The  policemen  looked  uncommonly  nervous 
and  shaky.  The  snake  was  the  biggest  one  we  had 
come  across  yet. 

I  gave  the  policemen  a  little  time  to  pull  them- 
selves together  and  then  we  went  up  to  the  second 
floor.  The  doors  of  all  the  rooms  were  closed, 
and  it  did  not  seem  likely  that  there  were  any  snakes 
in  them.  However,  we  looked  through  them  all — 
they  were  bedrooms — and  made  sure  that  there 
were  no  snakes  in  them.  Then  I  led  the  way,  un- 
der another  barbed  wire  barricade,  hung  to  the 
ceiling,  up  the  narrow  staircase  to  the  third  floor. 
In  all  the  houses  in  the  Gardens  the  third  floor  is 
arranged  as  servants'  quarters,  and  the  rooms  are 


210  ALICE  DEVINE 

small.  The  doors  of  all  but  one  of  them  were 
open. 

"Here's  the  end  of  the  search,"  I  said,  tapping 
the  closed  door;  and  the  inspector  opened  it. 

The  blind  was  down,  but  the  room  was  brightly 
lighted  by  the  burning  gas.  On  the  bed  lay  the 
body  of  a  swarthy,  hook-nosed,  black-haired  man 
of  about  fifty-five.  He  was  dressed  in  pajamas 
and  a  dressing-gown.  I  saw  at  the  first  glance  that 
he  was  dead.  The  inspector  pointed  to  his  swollen 
left  ankle,  in  which  there  were  two  deep  wounds. 
Plainly  he  had  cut  away  the  flesh  round  the 
punctures  from  the  snake's  fangs;  but  it  had  been 
no  use.  A  half -smoked  cigar  had  fallen  from  the 
fingers  of  his  right  hand  and  burned  a  hole  in  the 
blanket.  On  the  table  by  the  bed  was  an  empty 
champagne-bottle,  and  a  glass  half-full  of  the  wine 
stood  beside  it. 

"A  cool  hand,  and  tough,"  said  the  inspector. 
"Found  that  it  was  all  up  with  him,  and  died  en- 
joying himself — not  been  dead  long,  either." 

"Well,  if  the  snakes  were  brought  here  the  night 
before  last  by  the  people  Brookes  saw,  they've 
only  been  in  the  house  thirty  hours,"  I  said.  "I 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  211 

expect  he  was  going  about  in  the  dark  in  his 
pajamas  and  trod  on  one  of  them." 

"That's  it,"  said  the  inspector.  "But  I  wonder 
that  he  didn't  bolt  out  to  a  doctor." 

"He  was  probably  afraid  that  the  people  who  had 
brought  the  snakes  were  waiting  for  him,  or  per- 
haps he  knew  the  snake,  and  that  it  was  no  use 
bothering  about  a  doctor.  He  looks  as  if  he  had 
been  well  baked  in  the  tropics." 

"Perhaps  that's  it,  m'Lord,"  said  the  inspector. 

Hanging  on  the  wall  were  a  magazine  rifle  and 
two  shotguns  with  their  barrels  cut  short  to  spread 
buck-shot.  All  along  one  side  of  the  room  were 
the  burglar  alarums  which  the  wires  in  the  hall  set 
ringing. 

We  came  out  and  explored  the  other  rooms. 
One  was  a  kitchen  with  a  gas-stove  in  it,  kept  very 
clean;  another  was  a  library  with  shelves  and 
shelves  full  of  French  and  Spanish  novels;  another 
was  a  bathroom.  The  room  beyond  the  bathroom 
was  a  storeroom  full  of  tinned  meats,  soups,  vege- 
tables and  milks  enough  to  have  fed  an  expedition 
to  the  South  Pole.  The  next  room  was  a  larder 
full  of  hams,  sides  of  bacon,  cheeses,  dried  tongues 


212  ALICE  DEVINE 

and  salt  butter.  The  last  room  was  a  cellar  full 
of  champagne,  burgundy,  port  and  old  brandy. 

On  the  floor  of  the  cellar  lay  a  smashed  bottle 
of  burgundy  with  a  little  wine  still  in  the  bottom 
of  it.  It  looked  to  me  as  if  my  tenant  might  have 
dropped  that  bottle  when  the  snake  bit  him.  I 
took  one  of  the  long  laths  on  which  the  rows  of 
bottles  lay,  from  one  of  the  bins,  and  poked  under 
the  bottles,  and  rapped  here  and  there.  Presently 
I  heard  a  rustle.  I  stepped  back  and  dropped  on 
one  knee.  That  was  no  use,  and  I  lay  down  flat 
on  the  floor.  The  bottom  row  of  bottles  was  not 
above  six  inches  from  the  floor,  and  it  was  dark 
under  it.  I  peered  about;  presently  I  fancied 
I  saw  something  move,  and  fired  at  a  venture  and 
sprang  to  my  feet.  There  was  a  noise  of  thrash- 
ing and  a  snake  came  squirming  out.  I  fired  the 
other  barrel  into  it  and  cut  it  into  strips.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  it  was  the  snake  which  had  bitten 
Vicenti. 

There  was  nothing  more  I  could  do  and  I  went 
home  to  bed,  leaving  Number  16  in  the  hands  of  the 
police.  I  was  some  time  getting  to  sleep,  for  I 
could  not  help  trying  to  puzzle  out  the  explanation 
of  Vicenti's  barricading  himself  in  his  house. 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  213 

There  was  no  doubt  that  with  all  these  provisions 
he  could  have  stood  a  two  or  three  years'  siege. 
With  those  barricades  the  house  could  not  be  car- 
ried by  assault — not  by  fifty  men.  He  could  prob- 
ably have  shot  as  many  as  that  before  they  got 
through  the  first  barricade.  I  wondered  and  won- 
dered who  his  enemies  were.  I  wondered  how  they 
had  found  out  that  the  house  was  not  empty;  I 
wondered  what  part  the  pretty  girl  with  the  brown 
velvety  eyes  had  played  in  the  business.  I  did  not 
think  that  it  was  a  small  one. 

The  papers  were  quiet  till  the  inquest;  then  they 
were  noisy  enough.  They  found  plenty  of  answers 
to  the  questions  the  case  raised.  They  found  too 
many.  Some  said  that  Vicenti  had  fallen  a  victim 
to  the  vengeance  of  the  Camorra;  others  of  the 
Mafia;  others  of  the  Black  Hand;  others  of  the 
Russian  Revolutionaries.  Others  again  suggested 
that  he  had  had  some  valuable  jewels  in  the  house, 
and  that  as  soon  as  his  enemies  were  sure  that  the 
snakes  had  done  their  work,  they  would  have  come 
in  the  daytime,  killed  the  snakes,  searched  the  house 
at  their  leisure  and  carried  off  the  jewels.  They 
could  not  all  be  right;  though  they  could  all  be 
wrong;  and  all  of  them  were  quite  sure  that  a 


214  ALICE  DEVINE 

mystery  that  must  be  known  to  so  many  people 
would  soon  be  solved.  It  was  not. 

The  inquest  was  adjourned,  and  presently  the 
newspapers  let  the  matter  drop  and  I  was  no  longer 
pestered  by  reporters  wanting  to  interview  me  about 
how  I  felt  during  what  the  placards  called 
"PEER'S  HEROIC  SNAKE-HUNT."  For  weeks 
my  friends  called  me  "Heroic  Snake-Hunter." 

The  police,  however,  did  not  let  the  matter  drop ; 
they  were  hunting  among  the  snake-dealers,  Jam- 
rach  and  the  rest,  for  the  man  who  had  bought  the 
snakes.  They  got  on  his  track  easily  enough.  He 
was  plainly  the  young  Spanish  collector  who  had 
bought  them  for  his  collection,  as  he  put  it.  But 
the  police  did  not  find  the  young  Spanish  collector. 
The  other  chance  of  getting  to  the  bottom  of  the 
business  was  to  find  the  pretty  girl  who  had  told 
me  that  she  was  Vicenti's  niece.  I  grew  very  tired 
of  detectives  calling  to  see  me  with  photographs 
of  all  the  female  scum  of  Europe  and  the  Americas, 
on  the  chance  that  I  might  recognize  one  of  them 
as  her. 

It  was  not  the  slightest  use  my  telling  them 
that  she  was  quite  all  right — a  lady,  and  not  an 
adventuress  at  all.  The  other  odd  thing  was,  that 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  215 

though  Viceiiti  was  worth  nearly  a  million,  no  heirs 
turned  up  to  claim  the  money.  The  police  could 
not  discover  anything  about  him,  neither  who  he 
was  nor  what  his  business  had  been. 

Then  I  met  the  pretty  girl — on  the  Lawn  at 
Ascot. 

She  was  wearing  a  charming  frock — what  they 
call  a  confection — evidently  from  Paris;  and  there 
wasn't  a  doubt  that  she  was  one  of  the  prettiest 
women  at  the  meeting.  She  was  talking  to  a  tall, 
sallow,  black-bearded  man  when  my  eyes  fell  on 
her.  I  stared  at  her,  very  naturally,  trying  to  make 
up  my  mind  what  to  do;  then  she  saw  me.  She 
looked  at  me  quietly  enough  and  said  something 
to  the  tall  man;  he  turned  and  looked  at  me  too. 
Then  she  left  him,  came  across  the  Lawn  to  me,  and 
held  out  her  hand. 

"How  do  you  do,  Lord  Garthoyle?"  she  said, 
with  a  charming  smile.  "I  knew  that  we  should 
meet  zooner  or  later." 

"How  do  you  do?"  I  said,  shaking  her  hand. 
"I  have  been  hoping  we  should  meet  ever  since  the 
evening  you  called  on  your  uncle  in  Garthoyle 
Gardens." 

"Zo  have  the  poleece,  I  believe,"  she  said,  with 


216  ALICE  DEVINE 

another  charming  smile,  and  she  led  the  way  out 
of  the  crowd  to  a  couple  of  chairs  beside  a  little 
table. 

We  looked  at  each  other,  and  she  said:  "I 
moost  introduce  myself.  I  am  the  Senora  Car- 
valho.  My  husband  ees  ze  Colombian  Ambas- 
sador. Was  eet  not  strange  about  my  oncle — your 
tenant  of  Number  16?  He  was  not  my  oncle  truly. 
Oh,  no.  He  was  El  Caballo." 

"Was  he?/'  said  I,  though  I  had  never  heard  of 
El  Caballo  in  my  life. 

"Yes;  sometime  een  Colombia  zey  call  heem  ze 
'Black  President';  sometime  ze  'Red  President.' 
He  was  president  for  four  monz.  And  what  a 
horror!  He  was  a  murderer  and  brigand  at  first; 
and  when  he  was  president  he  was  vorse — oh,  mooch 
vorse.  He  robbed  and  murdered  and  tortured  not 
only  hees  enemies,  but  also  hees  own  party."  She 
paused;  she  was  not  smiling  now;  then  she  added 
slowly:  "He  shot  my  fazer  and  my  brozer — a 
leetle  boy  of  twelve." 

"The  hound!"  I  said. 

"My  mozer  was  zere  and  I.  I  was  nine  years 
old.  My  mozer  died  veree  soon.  At  the  end  of 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  217 

four  monz,  he  disappeared,  ze  president — suddenly. 
We  zought  zat  he  had  been  killed  quietly  and 
buried,  zough  eet  was  strange  zat  nobody  could 
find  ze  money  he  had  stolen.  People  talked  about 
heem  for  years  when  I  was  a  child.  Zen  zey  forgot 
heem.  Eight  monz  ago  I  recognized  heem  in 
Piccadilly.  He  was  veree  different — oh,  yes,  veree 
different.  But  I  knew  heem — right  zere.  He  did 
not  know  me;  and  I  followed  heem  to  hees  house 
een  Garthoyle  Gardens." 

"I  see,"  I  said. 

"Zome  of  my  friends  came  from  Colombia — 
zons  of  murdered  fazers.  Zey  coom  quickly.  But 
zomehow  he  learned  zat  zey  had  coom.  We  do  not 
know  how  he  learnt  eet,  but  he  knew  why  zey  had 
coom.  He  shut  up  hees  house;  and  we  zought  zat 
he  had  gone  away.  We  could  not  find  out  where 
he  had  gone;  but  we  waited.  Always  one  or  ze 
ozer  watch  ze  house.  But  he  nevaire  came.  Zen 
one  of  my  coosins  een  ze  beeg  garden  een  ze  meedle, 
on  a  hot  day,  saw  a — what  would  you  call  eet? — 
he  saw  ze  heat  twinkle  above  a  chimney.  Zo  we 
know  zat  he  was  zere.  Zen  another  coosin  got  into 
ze  house  from  ze  back,  and  found  ze  barricade.  He 


218  ALICE  DEVINE 

tooched  a  wire  een  ze  hall;  and  ze  bell  rang.  El 
Caballo  fired  at  heem,  and  heet  heem  in  ze  shoulder, 
but  my  coosin  got  out  of  ze  house.  We  did  not 
know  what  to  do.  Zen  I  planned  ze  snakes.  I  saw 
zem  een  a  book,  an  Eengleesh  book  called  Ze  Skip- 
'per*s  Wooing,  but  only  one  snake  was  een  ze  book. 
We  got  more  snakes,  to  make  sure.  My  coosin 
bought  zem  and  went  quickly  out  of  England.  Zen 
we  poot  zem  in  ze  house." 

"I'm  jolly  glad  you  got  him — the  hound  wanted 
killing  off,"  I  said. 

"Ah,  you  onderstand,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
sigh  of  relief.  "And  my  friends  have  gone  back 
to  Colombia,  and  my  husband  he  does  not  know. 
An  Ambassador  should  not  know  zese  zings." 

I  nodded. 

"But  eet  ees  strange  zat  ze  police  know  nozing 
— nozing  at  all?"  she  said  anxiously. 

"They  will  never  know  anything  about  it,  or 
about  any  one  connected  with  it.  I'm  quite  sure 
of  that.  The  brute  wanted  killing  off,"  I  said 
firmly. 

"Zank  you,"  she  said,  and  she  smiled.  "I  knew 
zat  a  gentleman  would  onderstand." 

I  thought  for  a  moment  and  then  I  said:    "He 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE  219 

must  have  turned  pretty  cold  when  you  hammered 
at  the  door  that  night." 

"I  zought  of  zat,"  she  said.  And  she  laughed 
— the  soft,  queer,  uncomfortable  little  laugh.  "But 
coom,  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  husband." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL 

WE  soon  found  Senor  Carvalho;  and  she 
introduced  me  to  him.  He  seemed  rather 
grave  and  solemn — I  thought  too  grave  and  solemn 
for  her.  We  had  tea  together  and  talked  about 
the  racing  and  the  theaters.  I  came  away  from 
the  meeting  very  pleased  to  have  learned  the 
solution  of  the  snake  mystery.  But  I  could  not 
expect  to  let  Number  16  for  some  time,  not  while 
the  murder  was  fresh  in  people's  minds.  They 
would  always  be  expecting  that  if  they  took  it, 
Vicenti's  ghost  would  walk.  However,  I  had  the 
house  painted  and  the  windows  cleaned,  so  that  it 
ceased  to  be  an  eyesore;  and  that  was  very  satis- 
factory. 

But  things  always  come  in  battalions,  as  I  believe 
Shakespeare  pointed  out ;  and  presently  I  had  Clipp 
on  my  hands.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  part 

220 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL       221 

of  the  duty  of  the  ordinary  house-agent  to  look 
after  the  respectability  of  the  houses  he  lets;  but 
every  one  seems  to  expect  me  to  look  after  the  re- 
spectability of  the  Gardens.  Indeed,  the  way  my 
tenants  worry  me  with  fussy  letters  generally,  makes 
me  inclined  to  agree  with  those  Socialist  beggars 
who  say. that  everybody  ought  to  work.  I  wish 
my  tenants  worked — I  should  like  to  give  some  of 
them  hard  labor,  and  their  wives  too.  Then  they 
would  have  something  ejse  to  do  but  worry  me. 

After  the  way  I  had  dealt  with  the  hieroglyphics 
in  his  porch,  Sir  Marmaduke  Ponderbury  had 
stopped  his  everlasting  letters.  I  think  he  had 
grown  a  bit  timid  of  me.  But  with  tenants  it 
seems  to  me  that  when  one  is  down,  another  comes 
up.  And  Sir  Nugent  Clipp  began  to  make  a  bigger 
nuisance  of  himself  than  old  Ponderbury  had  ever 
done.  We  call  him  Nugget  Clipp,  because  he  is  the 
meanest  man  in  London. 

Most  of  my  tenants  kick  at  spending  money  on 
their  houses,  though  they  rent  them  on  repairing 
leases;  but  it  seemed  to  be  Nugget's  idea  not  to 
spend  a  single  penny  on  his,  but  to  get  me  to  do 
all  the  spending  for  him.  I  was  always  getting 
letters  from  him — his  butler  brought  them  round  to 


222  ALICE  DEVINE 

save  the  postage — calling  on  me  to  make  some  re- 
pair that  was  entirely  his  business.  When  I  re- 
fused, he  would  write  again  and  again,  repeating 
the  demand.  That  was  annoying  enough;  but  he 
did  not  stop  at  letters.  When  he  saw  that  it  was 
no  use  writing  he  would  get  the  work  done  and  tell 
the  man  who  did  it  to  send  the  bill  in  to  me.  Then 
there  was  a  correspondence  with  the  tradesman.  I 
said  again  and  again  (Jack  Thurman  and  Miss 
Wishart  must  have  grown  tired  of  hearing  me  say 
it)  that  what  Nugget  wanted  was  his  neck  wring- 
ing. Accounts  are  nuisance  enough  in  all  conscience 
without  their  being  muddled  up  by  tricks  like  Clipp's. 

Besides,  thanks  to  his  stinginess,  his  house  was 
the  worst  kept  and  the  dingiest  in  the  Gardens. 
After  I  had  painted  Number  16  I  took  good  care  to 
point  this  out  to  him  in  letter  after  letter,  request- 
ing him  to  have  it  painted,  or  to  have  the  paint 
washed,  or  to  have  his  window-boxes  trimmed,  or 
his  awnings  cleaned. 

One  way  and  another  I  was  not  on  good  terms 
with  him,  though  I  carried  on  all  my  correspondence 
with  him  through  Garth  and  Thurman;  for,  in 
spite  of  this,  he  never  saw  me  without  trying  to  get 
some  repair  or  other  out  of  me.  I  have  seen  his 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      223 

whiskers  positively  bristle  with  eagerness  to  touch 
me  for  three-and-sixpence.  I  was  always  very 
short  and  frequently  nasty  with  him — not  that  that 
stopped  him  having  another  try  next  time  he  came 
across  me.  It  was  a  blessing  I  could  spot  him  a 
long  way  off.  He  is  a  short,  dapper,  whiskered 
little  man,  with  pale  blue  eyes,  which  in  some  lights 
are  yellow  like  a  cat's;  and  he  has  a  habit  of  wearing 
tweed  suits,  very  badly  cut,  of  a  large  black-and- 
white  check.  No  one  has  ever  seen  him  in  any- 
thing else ;  and  they  have  a  theory  at  the  Palladium 
that  many  years  ago  he  bought  a  thousand  yards  of 
that  tweed,  cheap,  off  a  bankrupt,  and  has  it  made 
up  into  suits  by  a  village  tailor,  when  once  a  year 
he  has  braced  himself  up  to  spending  half-a-sov- 
ereign  on  clothes.  I  have  no  doubt  that  that  is  the 
fact  of  the  matter;  and  I  am  glad  of  it;  often  and 
often,  as  I  bolted  round  a  corner  or  into  a  cab,  have 
I  blessed  his  taste  in  dress,  which  enabled  me  to 
recognize  him  so  far  off. 

When  I  heard  that  he  was  going  abroad  for  two 
months  to  escape  his  annual  attack  of  hay-fever, 
I  was  pleased.  I  was  in  the  office  when  Jack  told 
me;  and  I  shouted  with  joy  and  danced  something 
like  the  Highland  fling,  much  to  the  surprise  of 


224  ALICE  DEVINE 

Miss  Wishart,  who,  I  fancy,  still  believes  that  peers 
go  in  for  calm  repose. 

I  had  the  good  luck  to  be  present  at  Nugget's 
departure.  He  stood  on  the  pavement,  having  an 
altercation  with  the  driver  of  a  four-wheeler  about 
the  fare  to  Liverpool  Street.  It  had  become  an 
altercation  when  I  came  up;  and  Nugget,  who  was 
purple  in  the  face,  appealed  to  me.  He  said  the 
fare  was  eighteenpence ;  the  cabman  said  it  was  two 
shillings. 

I  said  it  was  half-a-crown. ' 

Nugget  nearly  burst  all  over  the  pavement.  He 
called  me  an  extravagant  waster,  told  the  cabman 
he  would  give  him  two  shillings  and  jumped  into 
the  cab. 

I  put  my  head  in  at  the  window  and  said: 
"Another  time  you  ask  me  to  do  you  a  service, 
Clipp,  I  shall  simply  refuse." 

Nugget  stuck  his  purple  face  into  mine  and 
howled:  "Service!  Service!  A  fine  service!  Six- 
pence is  what  asking  your  opinion  has  cost  me.  I 
don't  believe  you  know  anything  about  it!" 

He  was  quite  right  I  did  not  know  anything 
about  it;  but  I  was  hardly  going  to  lose  the  chance 
of  brightening  Nugget's  last  hours  in  England  for 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      225 

want  of  a  little  expert  knowledge.  I  was  pleased 
to  have  done  it ;  but  I  was  a  great  deal  more  pleased 
to  have  seen  the  last  of  him  for  the  next  two 
months. 

I  met  Brookes  on  his  beat  three  nights  later; 
and  I  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  learn  from  him  that 
Nugget  had  simply  shut  up  his  house  and  left  no 
caretaker  in  charge  of  it.  I  could  have  betted  that 
he  had  economized  in  that  way.  Then,  only  a 
week  later  I  was  disgusted  to  see  the  well-known 
check  which  covered  him  in  the  porch  of  Number  3. 
I  hoped  that  it  had  been  a  hallucination;  but 
next  morning  some  of  the  blinds  were  drawn,  and 
there  was  no  doubt  that  he  had  returned  to  his 
house  and  his  hay-fever. 

That  evening  I  was  strolling  past  his  house  when 
he  came  down  the  steps  with  a  kit-bag  in  his  hand. 

"Evening,  Nugget — sorry  to  see  that  your  travels 
have  come  to  an  end  so  soon,"  I  said. 

Nugget  sneezed  three  timeS  and  said  in  a  splut- 
tering croak :  "Who  said  they  had  come  to  an 
end?  Ah-tish-oo!  Ah-tish-oo!  Ah-tish-oo !" 

"Well,  it's  a  pity  that  they  have  been  interrupted 
• — for  I  can  see  that  the  hay- fever  has  got  hold  of 
you,"  said  I. 


226  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Yes;  it  has — confound  it!"  croaked  Nugget; 
and  he  sneezed  again.  "Bud  I'b  off  agaid  next 
week — ged  rid  of  id  in  Idaly." 

"Well,  I  hope  you'll  arrange  to  have  your  window- 
boxes  kept  clean  while  you're  away." 

"Sha'd  spent  a  penny  on  them — nod  a  penny," 
said  Nugget. 

"Well,  I'll  have  them  kept  tidy  for  you,  send 
you  in  the  bill  and  sue  you  for  it.  Good  night," 
I  said  cheerfully;  and  I  strolled  on,  leaving  him 
spluttering  and  sneezing. 

It  seemed  likely  that  a  man  with  such  a  stiff 
dose  of  hay-fever  on  him  would  not  write  any  more 
letters  than  he  was  obliged;  and  Nugget  did  not. 
I  saw  him  twice  during  the  next  three  days,  in  the 
evening;  and  every  time  he  was  dragging  that  kit- 
bag  with  him.  I  wondered  if  he  kept  it  with  him 
in  case  he  might  be  able  to  dash  off  at  a  moment's 
notice  to  Italy.  Hay-fever  like  that  would  make 
any  one  be  prepared  to  bucket  off  instantly,  if  he 
got  the  chance,  without  waiting  to  go  home  and 
pack. 

Then  to  my  intense  surprise  I  found  him  at  one 
of  Scruton's  baccarat  parties,  playing  hard.  I  was 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL       227 

not  the  only  surprised  one  there;  two  men  told 
me  that  they  had  never  known  Nugget  would  stake 
a  penny  on  a  game  of  any  kind;  and  one  of  them 
suggested  that  the  hay- fever  had  flown  to  his  brain. 
We  kept  on  stopping  our  play  to  watch  him.  He 
was  playing  very  cautiously;  and  he  sniffed  and 
sneezed  steadily  without  a  break;  and  when  he  lost 
he  spluttered. 

I  played  for  a  good  while  because  the  piebald 
duke,  Sir  Theobald  Walsh,  and  Le  Quesne  were 
sitting  around  Alice  Devine  talking  to  her;  and 
general  conversation  was  not  what  I  wanted.  But 
when  they  came  to  the  table,  I  left  it  and  went  to 
her. 

"You  seem  to  have  been  having  a  regular  con- 
ference," I  said,  as  I  sat  down. 

"We've  been  talking  about  my  uncle's  new  guest, 
Sir  Nugent  Clipp,"  she  said. 

"I'll  bet  anything  they  weren't  lavishing  compli- 
ments on  him,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  no;  they  all  said  he  was  the  meanest  man 
in  London;  and  they  were  telling  me  mean  things 
he  had  done.  Some  of  them  were  very  funny," 
said  Alice,  smiling. 


228  ALICE  DEVINE 

"We  all  love  Clipp,"  I  said. 

"Then  I'm  sure  he  doesn't  deserve  it,"  she  said. 
"But  why  does  he  make  up?" 

"Make  up?"  said  I.    "Nugget  isn't  made  up." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  is,"  she  said  firmly. 

"Then  Nugget  must  be  going  in  for  a  beauty- 
show;  anything  to  turn  an  honest  penny.  Nugget 
loves  it." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Alice.  "But 
his  face  is  certainly  painted — the  wrinkles  round 
his  eyes  would  be  ever  so  much  deeper  if  he  hadn't 
partly  painted  them  out." 

"Oh,  I  must  look  into  this,"  I  said.  "Nugget's 
one  of  my  tenants.  I  can't  have  my  tenants  im- 
proving nature,  though  there  is  a  lot  of  room  for  it 
in  Nugget's  case.  Come  along,  let's  go  and  take 
a  look  at  him  from  close  to."  We  rose  and  went  to 
the  table,  and  pretending  to  watch  the  game,  sidled 
up  behind  Nugget.  I  looked  and  looked,  but  I 
could  not  see  any  make-up.  His  wrinkles  looked 
real  enough  to  me.  We  came  back  to  our  chairs 
and  sat  down. 

"Well?"  said  Alice. 

"I  can't  see  it,"  I  said.  "His  wrinkles  look 
natural  enough  to  me.  There's  no  paint." 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      229 

"But  there  is,"  said  Alice. 

"I  tell  you  what,  the  wrinkles  may  look  painted 
because  the  dear  old  Nugget  has  been  economizing 
in  the  matter  of  soap,"  I  said. 

"Men  do  say  horrid  things  about  one  another," 
said  Alice. 

"Yes;  it's  jealousy — Nugget's  pretty  whiskers," 
I  said. 

"But  it  is  paint,"  said  Alice  obstinately. 

We  argued  the  matter  for  some  time,  discussing 
who  had  the  better  eyesight.  Then  we  stopped 
talking  about  Nugget  and  talked  of  pleasanter 
things.  Then  she  slipped  away  to  bed.  I  went 
back  to  the  card-table  and  played  steadily. 

When  the  party  broke  up,  Nugget  was  almost 
in  tears — not  hay- fever  tears,  but  the  other  kind — 
tears  from  the  heart.  He  whined  and  spluttered, 
and  spluttered  and  whined,  because  he  had  lost 
eighteen  pounds.  No  one  seemed  the  slightest  bit 
sorry  for  him. 

The  next  night  I  v/as  motoring  off  to  a  dance  at 
about  ten  o'clock,  when  I  passed  Nugget  in  a  four- 
wheeler  with  a  big  portmanteau  on  the  top  of  it; 
and  I  thought  that  losing  eighteen  pounds  had  been 
too  much  for  him  and  driven  him  off  again  on 


230  ALICE  DEVINE 

his  travels.  But  next  morning  I  was  again  dis- 
appointed, for  I  saw  that  Number  3  was  still  in- 
habited. 

That  evening  I  was  strolling  round  the  Gardens, 
smoking  a  cigar  after  dinner,  when  I  came  upon 
Brookes  and  stopped  to  talk  to  him.  He  takes  a 
great  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Gardens;  and  since  he  is  a  great  favorite  with 
the  maids  on  his  beat,  he  knows  a  great  deal  about 
them.  Of  course  one  should  not  talk  to  a  police- 
man about  one's  tenants,  but  then  they  were 
Brookes's  only  topic  of  conversation;  and  I  gener- 
ally pulled  him  up  when  his  gossip  grew  scandalous. 

In  the  middle  of  our  talk  he  said:  "I  hear  as 
Sir  Nugent  Clipp  is  goin'  orf  again.  An'  las' 
night  I  seed  him  drive  off,  with  his  portmanteau, 
in  a  four-wheeler — a  four-wheeler  always  seems  to 
be  'is  fancy.  I  thought  'e'd  gorn;  but  'e  was  back 
there  this  morninV 

"He's  a  long  time  getting  started,"  said  I. 

"I  do  wish,  m'Lord,  as  you'd  tell  'im  'e  ought  ter 
leave  a  caretaker  in  that  'ouse.  These  big  'ouses 
can't  be  properly  watched  from  the  outside.  There's 
so  many  ways  of  gettin'  into  'em,"  said  Brookes 
rather  anxiously. 


231 

"If  I  come  across  him  again  before  he  starts,  I 
will.  But  I  don't  think  it's  much  use,  because  he 
hates  spending  money,"  I  said. 

"  'E's  an  economical  gentleman,"  said  Brookes. 

I  bade  him  good  night  and  strolled  on. 

It  was  two  days  later  that  the  first  Clipp  scandal, 
not  the  great  one,  occurred ;  and  it  was  at  Scruton's. 
Clipp  was  there  again,  playing  away;  and  I  took 
it  that  he  had  come  after  his  eighteen  pounds.  I 
hoped  he  would  not  recover  them. 

I  did  not  see  anything  of  his  play  during  the 
earlier  part  of  the  evening,  though  I  noticed  that 
his  hay-fever  made  him  a  perfect  nuisance  with  his 
sniffing  and  sneezing  to  the  people  near  him.  I 
was  busy  talking  to  Alice  after  a  little  trouble  with 
that  hulking  brute  Sir  Theobald  Walsh.  He  tried 
to  monopolize  her;  and  I  tried  to  too — I  did  it. 
I  think  she  rather  enjoyed  having  us  snap  at  each 
other  about  her;  and  it  was  very  natural — a 
pretty  girl  does.  When  she  went  to  bed,  I  went 
to  the  card-table,  sat  down,  and  punted  gently. 

Nugget  was  still  sniffing  and  sneezing  away,  and 
presently  he  croaked  that  he  would  take  the  bank; 
and  he  took  it.  The  luck  had  been  against  it  most 
of  the  evening;  but  now  it  turned.  Nugget  began 


232  ALICE  DEVINE 

to  win;  and  he  went  on  winning.  Soon,  too,  most 
of  the  'men  were  betting  heavily,  more  heavily  than 
usual;  all  of  them  were  burning  to  take  it  out  of 
Nugget.  Nugget  made  them  worse;  he  had  a  nasty 
sneering  chuckle  when  he  won  that  would  have 
aggravated  a  saint  into  staking  his  last  farthing. 
He  did  not  aggravate  me;  for  I  could  not  see  my- 
self letting  the  dear  old  whiskered  chap  have  my 
money.  I  went  on  punting  gently — just  enough 
to  give  me  an  interest  in  the  game  and  no  more. 

The  bank  had  won  about  six  thousand  when  Le 
Quesne,  who  sat  opposite  to  me,  gave  me  half  a 
wink  and  shook  his  head.  What  Le  Quesne  doesn't 
know  about  cards  is  not  worth  knowing.  I  took  it 
as  a  notice  to  stop;  and  I  stopped.  Le  Quesne 
got  up,  went  to  the  side-table  and  poured  himself 
out  a  brandy-and-soda.  I  joined  him  and  did  the 
same. 

"I  say,  Garthoyle,  did  it  ever  strike  you  that  Nug- 
get wasn't  on  the  square?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"No — I  don't  know.  I  never  thought  about  it. 
Of  course  he's  desperately  mean,"  I  said. 

"Yes;  that's  what  I  should  have  said — just 
mean,"  said  Le  Quesne. 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      233 

"And  mean  men  don't  often  stay  on  the  square," 
I  said.  "But  why?  What's  the  matter?" 

"I  swear  that  I  saw  his  fingers  twinkle — twice. 
And  I'm  as  quick  at  seeing  fingers  twinkle  as  most 
men,  for  I've  played  in  queer  company  oftener  than 
most.  Of  course,  I  may  be  wrong.  Perhaps  it's 
liver." 

He  walked  across  the  room,  looked  at  the  whites 
of  his  eyes  in  a  mirror,  and  came  back  to  me. 

"You  must  be  wrong,"  I  said.  "It's  nonsense 
to  suppose  that  Nugget  has  suddenly  blossomed  into 
a  card-sharper.  Why,  it  takes  years  of  practise." 

"It  does.  But  after  all,  none  of  us  knows  how 
Nugget  spends  his  time.  He  doesn't  hunt;  he 
doesn't  shoot;  he  doesn't  even  play  golf;  and  he 
never  goes  racing.  Of  course,  he  collects  things 
• — china  and  so  on — but  that  doesn't  take  up  much 
of  a  man's  time.  He  may  have  been  spending  two 
or  three  hours  a  day  for  years,  preparing  this  little 
treat  for  us." 

"He  must  spend  a  deuce  of  a  lot  of  his  time  sav- 
ing money,"  said  I. 

"He  may  have  been  spending  it  getting  ready  to 
earn  a  little  off  us,"  said  Le  Quesne.  "Come  along 


234  ALICE  DEVINE 

and  have  a  look  yourself.  You  may  see  something, 
and  you  may  not.  It  takes  a  practised  eye.  Every 
year  for  a  month  I  hire  a*  conjurer  to  do  card  tricks 
before  me  for  an  hour  every  day — just  to  keep  my 
eye  bright" 

"Then  you  ought  to  be  able  to  see  fingers 
twinkle,"  I  said;  and  we  went  back  to  the  table. 

I  confined  myself  to  betting  an  occasional 
sovereign,  and  I  watched  with  all  my  eyes.  The 
bank  went  on  winning;  but  I  saw  nothing.  When 
it  had  won  about  nine  thousand,  the  seasoned 
punters  seemed  to  make  up  their  minds  at  about  the 
same  time  that  they  were  up  against  a  phenomenal 
run,  and  they  dropped  out — as  far,  that  is,  as  serious 
betting  went.  Two  or  three  of  the  younger  men 
went  on  merrily,  and,  of  course,  the  piebald  duke 
plunged  steadily  away.  Nugget  sniffed  and  sneezed, 
and  sniggered  and  sneered,  and  won  and  won.  The 
duke  dropped  two  thousands  running,  and  then  he 
seemed  to  have  had  enough  for  the  evening.  He 
stopped  and  the  game  petered  out.  Nugget  had  won 
nearly  twelve  thousand  on  one  bank. 

He  was  gathering  up  the  last  lot  of  notes,  and 
everybody  was  talking — cursing  their  luck  chiefly; 
Nugget  had  a  sneezing  fit,  and  I  saw  Le  Quesne  slide 


,THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      235 

a  dozen  cards  off  the  table  with  his  left  hand  and 
slip  them  into  his  trousers  pocket.  We  broke  up, 
discussing  the  bank's  run. 

Next  morning  I  was  just  finishing  my  breakfast 
when  Richards  ushered  in  Le  Quesne.  We  greeted 
each  other;  he  sat  down,  lighted  a  cigar  and  took 
a  handful  of  playing-cards  out  of  his  pocket. 

"I've  found  out  how  the  good  Nugget  rooked  us 
last  night,"  said  he. 

"It  was  rooking,  was  it?"  said  I. 

"Rather!  If  you  come  to  think  of  it,  a  red-eyed 
man,  with  hay-fever  on  him,  couldn't  be  so  lucky  as 
that.  Take  a  look  at  the  corner  of  these  cards 
through  this  glass — and  feel  them,"  he  said;  and 
he  handed  me  the  cards  and  a  magnify  ing-glass. 

It  was  small,  but  it  was  very  powerful.  I  looked 
at  the  corner  of  the  cards  through  it  and  saw  quite 
plainly  two  little  dints — I  should  think  they  had 
been  made  with  the  point  of  a  pin — in  the  corner  of 
each  eight  and  nine.  I  could  feel  them,  too,  but  not 
very  distinctly. 

"Well,  this  is  thick,"  I  said. 

"Isn't  it?  Nugget  must  have  been  getting  ready 
for  us  for  years — dear  old  Nugget,"  said  Le 
Quesne. 


236  ALICE  DEVINE 

"But  Scruton's  parties  have  only  been  going  on 
for  a  few  months,"  I  said. 

"Nugget  would  have  found  his  chance  somewhere 
else,  all  right,"  said  Le  Quesne.  "You  can  see  how 
it  was  done;  the  first  time  he  went  to  Scruton's,  he 
sneaked  a  pack  of  Scruton's  cards;  last  night  he  in- 
serted his  postlche  and  scooped  up  twelve  thousand. 
And  his  patter  was  so  good — that  sniffing  and 
sneezing  would  have  put  any  one  off  the  scent." 

"He  has  a  nerve,"  I  said.  "I  should  never  have 
dreamt  that  dear  old  Nugget  had  a  nerve  like  that. 
It  was  deucedly  lucky  that  you  caught  him  out  first 
time.  He  might  have  touched  us  for  sixty  or  sev- 
enty thousand  before  the  rest  of  us  tumbled  to  it." 

"Yes;  and  what's  to  be  done  now?"  said  Le 
Quesne. 

"Make  him  disgorge,  I  suppose,"  I  said. 

"I  can't  see  Nugget  disgorging  sixpence,  much 
less  twelve  thousand,"  said  Le  Quesne.  "And  we 
can't  show  him  up;  he's  related  to  all  of  us." 

"Not  to  me,  thank  goodness !"  I  said. 

"Ah,  you  were  born  lucky,"  said  Le  Quesne. 
"But  he's  related  to  the  rest  of  us." 

"Poor  beggars !"  said  I. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  pass 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL       237 

the  word  round  quietly,  and  he  won't  get  another 
chance  of  rooking  us,  though  perhaps  you  ought  to 
have  it  out  with  him,"  said  Le  Quesne. 

"Me?    Why  me?"  said  I. 

"Well,  he's  living  in  one  of  your  houses.  You 
ought  not  to  allow  your  tenants  to  cheat  at  cards/' 
said  Le  Quesne. 

"Me  look  after  the  morals  of  my  tenants — two 
thousand  a  year  tenants?  Not  much!  It's  quite 
enough  to  look  after  their  money — their  rent.  Look 
here,  Le  Quesne,  you  must  be  drunk — it's  too  early 
in  the  morning  to  be  mad." 

"Well,  you  ought.  He  lives  in  one  of  your 
houses,"  Le  Quesne  said  obstinately. 

"I'm  his  landlord — not  his  pastor.  Do  I  look  like 
his  pastor?  I  ask  you — do  I?"  I  said;  and  I  was 
getting  rather  hot  about  it. 

"No — perhaps  you  don't,"  said  Le  Quesne,  as  if 
he  were  not  so  sure  about  it. 

"I'm  not,  anyway,"  I  said.  "No;  all  we  can  do  is 
to  pass  the  word  round  quietly — to  one  man  at  a 
time.  We  don't  want  dear  old  Nugget  falling  over 
us  with  a  libel  action.  You  couldn't  make  him  dis- 
gorge sixpence — you  said  so  yourself." 

Le  Quesne  shook  his  head  and  looked  sad. 


238  ALICE  DEVINE 

We  sealed  up  the  cards  in  an  envelope,  along  with 
a  short  statement  signed  by  both  of  us,  that  they  had 
been  taken  from  the  pack  with  which  Nugget  had 
conducted  his  bank.  Dealing  with  contracts  for 
work  in  the  Gardens  had  made  me  quite  good  at 
drawing  up  statements.  Then  Le  Quesne  went 
away,  still  sad. 

During  the  next  day  or  two  I  told  several  of  the 
men  who  played  at  Scruton's  about  Le  Quesne's 
discovery,  and  they  all  agreed  that  we  could  not 
have  an  open  row.  Of  course,  I  did  not  tell  Scrnton 
himself;  he  was  not  related  to  Nugget — he  was  a 
millionaire.  He  would  be  sure  to  make  a  fuss. 
Millionaires  are  not  used  to  being  done  in  the  eye 
like  we  are. 

But  though  I  had  told  Le  Quesne  that  I  was  not 
going  to  tackle  Nugget,  it  was  not  quite  my  idea  to 
lose  the  chance  of  getting  at  him  when  I  had  a 
business  like  this  to  hit  him  with.  Two  or  three 
days  later  I  met  him  in  the  gardens,  stopped  him, 
and  said  to  him :  "I  say,  Clipp,  the  next  time  you 
take  a  bank  at  baccarat,  you  should  try  not  to  leave 
your  postichc  behind  you." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean!"  he  spluttered. 

"Well,  don't,"  I  said,  and  I  went  on. 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL       239 

He  did  not  come  to  Scruton's  next  party,  and  I 
took  it  that  he  had  taken  the  hint.  It  was  broad 
enough. 

The  very  next  afternoon  after  that  party  the  great 
Clipp  scandal  began.  I  happened  to  be  talking  to 
Alice  Devine  in  the  central  garden  after  lunch,  when 
there  came  out  of  Nugget's  porch  a  very  odd-looking 
pair.  They  looked  as  if  they  had  got  sorted  wrong. 
One  of  them  was  a  lady  in  the  bluest  blue  frock  I 
have  ever  seen;  the  other  was  Nugget  in  the  well- 
known  tweed  suit.  Both  of  them  were  bare-headed, 
and  the  lady's  very  golden  hair  shone  in  the  sun- 
light like  the  best  brass.  Nugget  was  smoking  a 
cigar  with  a  rich-looking  gold  band  round  it;  and 
the  lady  was  smoking  a  cigarette. 

When  they  came  into  the  garden,  I  just  turned 
stiff  on  the  seat.  It  was  a  good  job  I  was  not  stand- 
ing up;  if  I  had  been  I  should  have  fallen  down 
right  there.  From  some  distance  I  gathered  from 
her  voice  that  the  lady  was  American,  and  when 
they  passed  me,  I  recognized  Cora  Cray,  the  leading 
lady  in  The  Buffalo  Belle.  And  oh,  she  did  look 
out  of  place  in  Garthoyle  Gardens ! 

"What  a  curious-looking  person,"  said  Alice. 

"Shines  nicely,"  I  said  faintly;  and  I  gathered 


240  ALICE  DEVINE 

from  her  tone  how  truly  Nugget  had  put  the  fat  in 
the  fire. 

"She  seems  to  have  a  very  odd  taste  in  dress," 
said  Alice,  and  though  it  was  a  blazing  hot  day,  the 
words  fell  from  her  lips  like  icicles. 

"And  hair,"  said  I. 

"Yes;  and  hair,"  said  Alice. 

"She's  Cora  Cray;  and  she  acts  in  that  American 
thing,  The  Buffalo  Belle" 

"Of  course,  I  know  now,"  cried  Alice.  "She  is 
the  'Buffalo  Belle';  and  she  sings  in  a  voice  like 
breaking  coals.  But  what's  she  doing  here?  It's 
rather  funny." 

It  might  be,  but  I  could  not  see  it. 

"Nugget's  American  cousin,"  I  said. 

"That's  rather  funny,  too,"  said  Alice. 

I  couldn't  see  the  fun  of  that,  either;  and  as  the 
afternoon  wore  on,  I  saw  it  less  and  less.  The  Colo- 
rado beauty  seemed  to  have  a  thinning  effect  on  the 
garden.  You  can  see  into  it  very  plainly  from  the 
houses;  and  that  more  than  sky-blue  dress  caught 
the  eye.  Nugget  had  not  the  sense  to  plant  the  lady 
in  a  secluded  spot  and  keep  her  there.  He  was 
rather  displaying  his  prize.  As  she  went  about, 
footmen  came  hurrying  into  the  garden,  and  each 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      241 

of  them  went  out  of  it  conducting  a  nurse,  or  two 
nurses,  and  a  set  of  children  to  the  unspotted  home. 

I  knew  that  there  would  be  trouble,  and  sure 
enough  by  the  first  post  of  next  morning  came  eleven 
letters,  marked  "Private,"  all  of  them  calling  on  me 
to  keep  Miss  Cora  Cray  out  of  the  central  garden 
and  save  my  tenants'  children  from  contamination. 
I  should  say  that  every  single  letter  was  libelous,  for 
there  is  nothing  against  Miss  Cora  Cray  except  her 
hair.  I  wrote  in  reply  to  the  letters  that  the  matter 
should  receive  my  attention.  I  did  not  think  it  at 
all  likely  that  the  lady  would  be  lunching  with  Nug- 
get again  for  a  long  time;  he  would  never  bring 
himself  to  spend  money  on  another  meal  for  her 
for  months.  But  it  chanced  that  after  I  had  finished 
my  morning's  work  in  connection  with  the  Gardens, 
I  went  out  on  the  balcony,  and  across  the  garden 
I  saw  something  blue.  I  dashed  for  my  glasses  and 
turned  them  on  it.  I  nearly  fell  off  the  balcony — 
it  was  Cora  Cray.  She  must  be  staying  at  Number 
3.  She  was  sitting  on  its  balcony  beside  the  broad- 
checked  Nugget,  and  both  of  them  were  smoking. 

They  sat  there  all  the  rest  of  the  morning,  shining 
and  smoking.  At  intervals  drinks  were  brought  out 
to  them,  and  once  the  bright-blue  Cora  raised  her 


242  ALICE  DEVINE 

voice  in  song  and  produced  the  sound  of  breaking 
coals.  Two  or  three  times  a  robust  female  in  black 
came  out  on  the  balcony,  talked  to  them  for  a 
while  and  went  in  again.  My  glasses  showed  me 
that  the  robust  female  was  what  Cora  calls  her 
"Mommer"  in  the  touching  Colorado  way.  I  had 
heard  her  do  it  at  a  supper-party  with  which  she 
had  sat  at  a  table  next  mine  at  the  Savoy  one 
night. 

For  about  an  hour  before  lunch  footmen  brought 
notes  to  me.  My  tenants  wanted  to  know  how  long 
their  delicate  eyes  were  to  be  offended  by  the  sight 
of  the  Colorado  beauty.  I  told  Mo  wart  to  pack  me 
clothes  for  a  fortnight  in  Paris,  and  he  was  about 
half-way  through  it,  when  Lady  Gargery  called. 

I  was  in  for  it.  Not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  on  it, 
Lady  Gargery  is  the  terror,  the  moral  terror,  of 
Garthoyle  Gardens.  She  is  the  widow  of  Gargery, 
Blossom  and  Company,  the  great  butter  company; 
she  is  on  the  committee  of  all  the  societies  and 
leagues  for  minding  other  people's  business  that  ever 
were;  and  she  is  very  important  indeed  among  the 
Anti-Suffragettes.  Besides  all  that,  she  is  said  to 
have  the  keenest  nose  for  scandal  of  any  woman 
in  London.  My  tenants  call  her  "Mouser."  It  is 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      243 

only  natural  that  she  should  make  it  her  business 
to  keep  the  Gardens  straight.  I  dare  say  they  are 
awfully  obliged  to  her. 

When  Richards  told  me  she  had  come  to  see  me,  I 
realized  I  ought  to  have  run  for  my  life  directly  I 
caught  sight  of  that  infernal  blue  dress,  and  picked 
up  Mowart  and  my  clothes  at  the  station.  But  it 
was  too  late  now ;  and  I  went  gloomi.ly  down  to  the 
drawing-room  to  hear  Lady  Gargery  pour  out  her 
righteous  indignation. 

There  is  a  kind  of  richness  about  Lady  Gargery. 
She  has  a  rich  ripe  figure,  broad,  square  and  thick; 
and  her  broad  square  face  is  a  rich  crimson.  I  don't 
know  whether  she  tries,  but  she  never  seems  to  be 
able  to  find  a  dress  to  match  it.  Also  she  had  a  deep 
rich  voice,  which — so  Brookes,  who  has  heard  her 
speak  at  a  demonstration  in  Hyde  Park,  told  me — ' 
carries  very  well  in  the  open  air.  In  a  room  it 
rather  booms. 

"Good  morning,  Lord  Garthoyle,"  she  boomed 
when  I  came  into  the  drawing-room.  "This  is  a 
terrible  thing — a  very  terrible  thing." 

I  had  my  eye-glass  in  my  eye  and  my  mouth  well 
open  defensively,  and  I  drawled:  "I  suppose  you 
mean  Sir  Nugent  Clipp's  little  game?" 


244  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Little  game?  'Little'  game,  Lord  Garthoyle?" 
she  boomed.  "If  you  call  flaunting  an  abandoned 
Colorado  actress  before  the  eyes  of  a  respectable 
neighborhood  like  Garthoyle  Gardens  a  'little'  game, 
your  idea  of  smallness  differs  very  considerably 
from  mine." 

"But  Miss  Cray  isn't  abandoned,  don't  you  know  ? 
She's  a  most  respectable  young  woman.  I've  been 
told  so  again  and  again,"  I  said. 

"She  is  an  American.  That  is  quite  enough  for 
me/'  boomed  Lady  Gargery. 

"Oh,  but  there  are  quite  decent  Americans.  I've 
met  them,"  said  I. 

"With  that  hair?"  she  boomed. 

"Oh,  well,  that  hair  now — it's  quite  common  in 
Colorado — hair  like  that,"  I  said. 

"So  I  am  given  to  understand  is  peroxide  of  brass. 
There  are  mines  of  it  there.  It  is  no  use  your  trying 
to  make  excuses  for  this  person.  I  am  not  to  be 
imposed  upon,  Lord  Garthoyle,"  she  boomed 

"But  what  she  calls  her  'Mortimer5  is  also  staying 
at  Sir  Nugent  Clipp's,"  I  said. 

"We  know  all  about  that  kind  of  mother — hired, 
Lord  Garthoyle — hired,"  Lady  Gargery  boomed. 

"They're  as  like  as  two  pins,  barring  their  hair 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      245 

and  their  ages.  They  look  exactly  like  mother  and 
daughter,"  I  said 

"It's  no  use  your  trying  to  throw  dust  in  my  eyes, 
Lord  Garthoyle.  I  have  had  too  wide  an  experience. 
I  am  here  to  do  my  duty — to  call  on  you  to  do 
yours,"  she  boomed  more  richly  than  ever.  "I  have 
come  to  call  upon  you  to  free  Garthoyle  Gardens 
from  the  presence  of  this  person — to  remove  her  at 
once." 

"But  hang  it  all " 

"There  is  no  need  to  swear — act!— act!"  she  in- 
terrupted. 

"I'm  not  swearing,  but  how  am  I  to  act?  It's  not 
my  business  to  remove  her,  it's  Sir  Nugent  Clipp's ; 
I've  no  control  over  her,  or  him." 

"You're  his  landlord." 

"Yes,  but  a  landlord  isn't  a  spiritual  director.  I 
haven't  any  power  over  him  of  any  kind,"  I  said. 

"It's  your  house.  Turn  her  out  of  it,"  boomed 
J-ady  Gargery. 

"I  can't  I  haven't  the  power,"  I  said  sharply; 
for  she  was  beginning  to  get  on  my  nerves. 

"You  can't?  You  mean  you  won't,  Lord  Gar- 
thoyle. I  see  what  it  is — I  suspected  it.  You  sym- 
pathize with  this  libertine.  Are  you  or  are  you  not 


246  ALICE  DEVINE 

going  to  purge  Gartholye  Gardens  of  this  abomi- 
nable scandal?"  she  boomed  in  a  perfectly  awful 
voice. 

"I  couldn't  if  I  tried,  don't  you  know?"  I  drawled. 
"And  anyhow  it  isn't  the  kind  of  thing  for  a  young 
bachelor  like  me  to  interfere  with.  It's  a  matter  for 
a  woman — a  well-grown  woman,"  I  said. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  you  definitely  refuse?" 
she  boomed. 

"Yes,  I  do.    I'm  too  shy,"  I  said. 

"Very  good,  Lord  Garthoyle — very  good.  I  will 
arrange  that  all  your  tenants  shall  leave  in  a  body  as 
a  protest  against  this  disgraceful  state  of  things," 
she  boomed,  rising. 

"Well,  I  shall  bear  up,"  I  drawjed.  "They'll  go 
on  paying  their  rent  just  the  same  till  their  leases 
are  up.  And  then  I  shall  always  get  a  fresh  lot  of 
tenants.  All  this  fuss  about  a  blue  frock  and  yellow 
hair — it's  ridiculous." 

"It  isn't  the  hair — it's  the  principle,"  she  boomed; 
and  she  sailed  out  of  the  room,  rustling  richly. 

Of  course,  I  was  not  at  all  afraid  that  my  tenants 
would  really  clear  out,  though  Lady  Gargery  got 
furiously  to  work,  and  seven  of  them  wrote,  threat- 
ening me  that  they  would  go.  People  don't  chuck 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      247 

away  two  thousand  a  year  for  moral  reasons.  But 
the  Great  Clipp  Scandal  raged;  and  the  Gardens 
sizzled  and  sizzled.  Lady  Gargery  went  about  them 
in  leaps  and  bounds,  exhorting;  and  I  had  from 
thirteen  to  twenty-two  letters  of  protest  every  day. 
I  could  not  understand  for  the  life  of  me  what  all 
the  fuss  was  about.  Nugget's  Colorado  beauty  was 
thickly  chaperoned;  her  "Mommer"  was  always 
coming  out  on  the  balcony  and  hovering  like  a 
square  elephant  round  the  happy  pair.  If  my  ten- 
ants had  objected  to  the  Buffalo  Belle's  habit  of 
breaking  coals  with  her  voice,  whenever  she  had  a 
satisfying  meal,  I  could  have  understood  it.  But  as 
far  as  respectability  went  Nugget  had  a  perfect 
right  to  have  any  musical  comedian  he  liked  to  stay 
with  him — as  long  as  she  was  properly  chaperoned. 

When  after  a  while  Lady  Gargery  and  her  sup- 
porters simmered  down  a  little,  and  merely  asked 
me  to  remonstrate  with  Nugget,  I  refused.  I  said 
that  if  they  did  not  really  like  the  Colorado  beauty's 
hair,  they  could  go  and  buy  themselves  some  like  it. 
I  was  not  popular  for  quite  a  while.  But  there  were 
at  least  three  of  my  tenants  who  adopted  my  sug- 
gestion. 

Then  Lady  Gargery  and  two  unfortunate  married 


248  ALICE  DEVINE 

women  she  had  dragged  into  it  went  to  Nugget  in 
a  lump  and  remonstrated  with  him.  He  more  than 
remonstrated  with  them;  he  accused  Lady  Gargery 
of  having  been  a  persistent  suitor  for  his  hand,  and 
of  attacking  the  Colorado  beauty — a  lady  of  the 
highest  character — out  of  jealousy.  The  deputation 
wrote  me,  calling  on  me,  as  their  landlord,  to  horse- 
whip Nugget.  I  refused;  and  the  Gardens  went  on 
sizzling. 

Then  one  morning  I  saw  from  my  balcony  that 
the  fair  Coloradan  had  changed  frtfm  the  bright 
blue  frock  into  a  yellow  one;  and  from  the  notes 
that  were  rushed  round  to  me,  I  gathered  that  the 
Gardens  were  foaming  at  the  mouth.  It  was  quite 
clear  that  if  the  infatuated  Nugget  did  not  marry 
his  beauty  very  soon,  I  should  have  to  get  him  shut 
up  in  a  lunatic  asylum. 

The  relieving  point  about  this  business  was  that  it 
brightened  Scruton's  parties  enormously;  all  the  men 
enjoyed  their  wives'  fury  so  thoroughly.  Algernon 
Hawk  made  a  big  book  about  whether  the  marriage 
would  come  off  or  not;  and  the  betting  was  quite 
interesting. 

Then  came  the  climax;  and  there  were  none  of 
those  wedding-bells-  in  it  the  Gardens  expected.  I 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL       249 

was  strolling  home  to  dinner  one  evening,  and  as  I 
came  to  the  top  of  the  triangle,  Nugget  passed  me 
in  a  taxicab;  he  waved  his  hand  at  me,  and  grinned 
as  he  went  by.  It  was  like  his  cheek,  for  I  had  been 
cutting  him  ever  since  his  successful  evening  at 
baccarat. 

I  walked  on,  confounding  his  impudence;  and  at 
the  bottom  of  the  triangle  I  stopped  before  crossing 
the  road,  to  let  a  four-wheeler  go  by — in  the  four- 
wheeler  sat  Nugget. 

"How— how  the What  the  devil?"  I  mut- 
tered, quite  staggered ;  and  then  in  a  flash  I  saw  it ; 
the  Nugget  who  had  passed  me  in  the  taxicab  could 
not  be  the  Nugget  in  the  four-wheeler.  There  were 
two  Nuggets. 

The  four-wheeler  drew  up  to  the  curb  and 
stopped;  then  Nugget's  head  came  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  he  bawled:  "Garthoyle!  Garthoyle!" 

I  turned  back  and  went  to  him. 

"What's  this?  What's  this  I  hear  about  some 
one  impersonating  me,  Garthoyle?"  he  howled. 
"Carew  met  me  in  Venice  and  told  me  that  I  was 
in  London,  and  had  been  in  London.  But  I  was 
in  Venice;  and  I  have  been  in  Venice  nearly  a 
month." 


250  ALICE  DEVINE 

I  stepped  close  to  the  cab,  thinking  of  Nugget's 
little  letter-writing  ways;  and  I  said  gently  but 
firmly:  "No,  Nugget;  you  have  not  been  in  Venice. 
You  have  been  here  in  Garthoyle  Gardens,  raising 
every  kind  of  Cain." 

"But  I  tell  you  I  haven't,"  he  howled. 

"It's  no  use  your  telling  me  you  haven't,  because 
you  have.  You've  been  here;  and  you  have  been 
caught  cheating  at  baccarat,"  I  said  more  firmly  still. 

"But  there  are  forty  people  who  can  swear  I  have 
been  in  Venice!"  howled  Nugget. 

"There  are  five  hundred  and  forty  who  can  swear 
that  you've  been  in  Garthoyle  Gardens,  whiskers, 
checks  and  all,  outraging  our  deepest  feelings  by 
flaunting  a  peroxide  Colorado  beauty  in  blue  and 
yellow  before  our  chaste  eyes  from  your  balcony. 
We  never  dreamed  you  were  such  a  rip." 

"Baccarat?     Colorado  beauty?"  gasped  Nugget. 

"Yes;  and  then  you  go  and  tell  me  that  you've 
been  in  Venice  for  nearly  a  month.  Rats !  Nugget ; 
rats!" 

"I  have!  I  swear  I  have !  I've  plenty  of  evidence 
of  it — heaps!  I've  been  impersonated!  Oh,  come 
along  with  me,  and  help  me  look  into  it,"  he  wailed. 


LTHE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      251 

I  jumped  into  the  cab;  and  we  rattled  up  to  Num- 
ber 3.  He  paid  the  cabman  what  he  asked  without 
a  word;  he  let  himself  into  the  house  with  a  latch- 
key. It  was  very  still,  there  seemed  to  be  no  one 
in  it.  We  went  into  the  dining-room.  The  lunch 
had  not  been  cleared  from  the  table. 

"The  '92  Pol  Roger!  Three  bottles  of  it!  My 
best  Cabanas!  And  the  Sevres  vases!  Where  are 
the  Sevres  vases  ?"  howled  Nugget ;  and  he  dropped 
into  a  chair. 

The  sham  Nugget  had  had  the  thought  fulness  to 
leave  a  bottle  of  old  brandy  on  the  table.  I  poured 
out  half  a  tumberful  and  pressed  it  on  the  real  one. 
He  did  not  want  much  pressing;  and  down  it  went. 

When  it  had  strengthened  him  we  made  a  tour 
of  the  house.  There  were  gaps  on  the  walls  where 
pictures  had  been — his  best  pictures.  There  were 
gaps  in  his  china-cabinets  where  china  had  been — 
his  best  china;  his  portfolio  of  Meryon  etchings  had 
gone;  so  had  his  old  silver — the  best  of  it.  The 
sham  Nugget  may  have  had  a  weakness  for  cheating 
at  cards  and  for  Colorado  beauties;  he  may  have 
had  no  taste  in  music;  but  in  the  matter  of  the  arts 
he  was  a  connoisseur. 


252  ALICE  DEVINE 

Nugget  was  in  tears  before  we  reached  the  first 
floor.  When  he  saw  that  his  Fragonards  had  gone 
from  the  drawing-room  wall,  he  collapsed. 

I  sent  for  a  doctor  and  the  police.  The  doctor 
was  useful ;  he  put  Nugget  to  bed.  But  what  could 
the  police  do  ?  The  thief  had  had  more  than  three 
weeks  in  which  to  plunder  the  house.  He  had 
taken  his  time  about  it  and  done  it  thoroughly. 

We  found  he  had  sold  his  loot  always  as  Sir 
Nugent  Clipp  in  person ;  and  he  had  sold  it,  not  only 
to  dealers,  but  also  to  leading  collectors,  and  at  top 
prices.  But  the  police  only  discovered  the  where- 
abouts of  about  one-sixth  of  it.  The  memories  of 
a  good  many  collectors  must  have  been  shocking; 
short  as  the  time  was  since  the  transactions,  their 
dealings  with  the  sham  Nugget  had  slipped  entirely 
but  of  their  minds. 

The  police  hunted  for  that  great  connoisseur  high 
and  low;  and  they  are  hunting  still.  It  seems  as  if 
he  had  worked  without  an  accomplice.  The  servants 
he  had  employed  had  all  come  on  a  temporary  en- 
gagement from  the  same  registry-office.  The  cab- 
men who  had  driven  him  from  Number  3  with  his 
trunk  or  kit-bag,  loaded  with  spoil,  had  always 
driven  him  to  a  railway-station  and  there  lost  him, 


THE  GREAT  CLIPP  SCANDAL      253 

so  that  there  was  no  finding  out  half  the  addresses 
to  which  he  had  carried  his  spoil.  The  fair  Colo- 
radan  and  her  "Mommer,"  while  praising  his  fasci- 
nating manners — so  unlike  those  of  the  real  Nug- 
get— and  lavish  hospitality,  could  throw  no  light  on 
him.  They  had  met  him  at  a  supper-party  and  ac- 
cepted his  invitation  to  stay  with  him.  They  dis- 
played no  sympathy  with  the  real  Nugget.  They 
were  too  much  annoyed  by  the  fact  that  the  mar- 
riage which  the  fair  Coloradan's  "Mommer"  had 
arranged  between  her  daughter  and  the  sham  Nug- 
get had  fallen  through. 

I  do  not  think  that  any  of  us  will  recognize  the 
sham  Nugget  if  we  meet  him.  The  real  Nugget 
looks  like  a  caricature,  and  so  did  the  sham  one; 

and  the  hay- fever  made  him  look  more  of  a  carica- 

• 

ture  than  ever.  It  also  let  him  disguise  his  voice. 
He  is  probably  a  simple,  ordinary  man  with  a  mus- 
tache; and  we  may  be  seeing  him  every  day.  All 
that  the  police  have  got  to  go  on  is,  that  he  must 
have  known  a  great  deal  about  the  real  Nugget.  He 
must  have  studied  him,  but  then  they  discovered 
that  thirty-three  valets,  butlers  and  footmen  had 
been  discharged,  or  left  situations  in  the  Gardens, 
during  the  last  three  years  only.  So  that  is  not 


254  ALICE  DEVINE 

much  help.    He  may  have  been  one  of  these,  or  he 
may  not. 

Nugget  gets  very  little  sympathy  in  his  loss.  All 
the  women  insist  on  reckoning  him  responsible  for 
the  shock  of  the  visit  of  the  fair  Coloradan  to  the 
Gardens.  I  say  that  it  serves  him  right ;  a  man  who 
wears  those  whiskers  and  that  broad-checked  tweed 
suit,  is  a  walking  temptation  to  people  to  imper- 
sonate him.  He  ought  to  get  his  whiskers  shaved 
and  go  to  a  decent  tailor. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    BECHUT    MYSTERY 

THE  Gardens  were  again  at  peace.  The  chil- 
dren and  the  nursemaids  filled  the  central 
garden  without  fear  of  being  suddenly  put  to  flight 
by  the  presence  of  a  fair  but  bright-blue  Coloradan ; 
and  all  was  well. 

Now  the  central  garden,  like  the  Gardens  them- 
selves, is  in  the  shape  of  a  triangle.  There  is  a 
gate  in  the  middle  of  each  of  the  three  sides  of  it, 
and  at  each  gate  is  a  notice-board  informing  people 
that  only  residents  in  the  Gardens,  their  families  and 
friends  are  allowed  in  it.  The  gardeners  have  strict 
orders  to  turn  strangers  out. 

But  my  Uncle  Algernon,  though  he  was  a  bachelor 
himself,  had  a  soft  place  in  his  heart  for  young 
people  in  love  with  each  other;  and  he  had  given 
instructions  to  the  gardeners  not  to  interfere  with 
pairs  of  lovers  who  happened  to  stray  into  the  gar- 
den. I  let  these  instructions  of  his  stand,  because 

255 


256  ALICE  DEVINH 

the  garden  looks  more  as  if  it  had  been  laid  out  for 
the  purpose  of  love-making  than  any  other  place  of 
its  kind  in  London.  There  are  a  good  many  little 
lawns  enclosed  by  shrubberies  in  it;  and  there  are 
nooks  in  the  shrubberies  with  benches  in  them.  In- 
deed, I  think  that  on  a  summer's  evening  it  would 
look  rather  incomplete — wasted,  as-  it  were — without 
some  pairs  of  lovers  in  it  Pairs  of  lovers  seemed 
to  think  the  same;  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  I  have 
never  found  it  looking  incomplete. 

I  have  never  used  it  for  love-making  myself. 
About  the  only  girl  I  ever  talked  to  in  the  garden 
was  Alice  Devine;  and  I  stuck  very  firmly  to  my 
intention  of  not  letting  myself  fall  in  love  with  her, 
because  of  the  ghost  trick.  All  the  same,  I  went  on 
finding  her  prettier  and  prettier  and  more  and  more 
delightful  to  talk  to.  Indeed,  I  was  never  able  to 
understand  how  she  came  to  help  Scruton  in  that 
little  game;  for  it  was  quite  unlike  everything  else 
in  her.  But  she  had;  and  so  even  if  I  wanted  to 
make  love  to  her,  it  made  it  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

On  the  Friday  night  after  the  return  of  Nugget 
to  his  looted  house,  I  had  arranged  to  go  to  a  Covent 
Garden  ball.  I  dined  at  home,  rather  late,  read  a 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  257 

book  for  an  hour,  and  then  went  out  into  the  central 
garden  to  take  a  little  fresh  air,  for  it  was  a  very 
hot  night.  The  garden  never  grows  stale,  like  the 
rest  of  London,  in  the  summer,  because  it  is  always 
being  watered ;  in  dry  weather,  all  night  long  there 
is  a  gentle  patter  of  falling  water  from  two  or  three 
revolving  standards  on  most  of  the  lawns;  and  if 
the  moon  is  shining  the  sprays  sparkle  very  prettily. 

As  I  crossed  the  road  to  the  gate  of  the  garden, 
which  is  nearly  in  front  of  my  own  house,  I  saw  a 
pair  of  lovers  going  up  the  central  path  of  it.  At 
least,  I  took  them  for  lovers,  though  perhaps  they 
were  walking  rather  too  quickly  for  people  engaged 
in  that  occupation.  But  perhaps  they  were  walking 
quickly  to  one  of  those  secluded  nooks.  The  girl 
was  in  evening  dress,  for  I  saw  her  shoulders  white 
in  the  moonlight,  and  she  had  a  scarf  twisted  round 
her  head.  The  man  was  wearing  tweeds  and  a 
straw  hat. 

At  the  same  time  I  noticed  a  man  in  evening  dress 
coming  along  the  pavement  on  my  left,  in  a  rather 
slinking  way,  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees  which  hang 
over  the  railings  on  the  edge  of  the  garden.  I  went 
through  the  gate  and  up  the  central  path ;  and  I  had 
gone  thirty  or  forty  yards  up  it,  when  I  heard  his 


258  ALICE  DEVINE 

feet  crunch  on  the  gravel  by  the  garden  gate.  I 
looked  back  to  see  if  it  was  any  one  I  knew,  but  a 
little  cloud  was  passing  over  the  moon  and  in  the 
dimness  he  was  too  far  off  to  recognize.  He  turned 
sharply  off  to  the  right  and  passed  into  a  shrubbery 
out  of  sight. 

I  went  on  a  few  yards  and  sat  down  on  a  seat, 
and  lighted  a  cigarette.  I  had  been  sitting  there 
two  or  three  minutes  when  a  woman  came  through 
the  gate.  She  came  along  at  a  smart  pace,  and  I 
saw  that  she  was  wearing  a  feathered  hat.  I  could 
not  see  her  face,  for  it  was  in  the  shadow  of  the 
hat,  and  was  further  hidden  by  a  veil.  She  did  not 
look  like  the  wife  or  daughter  of  one  of  my  tenants ; 
she  looked  like  a  lady's-maid,  and  she  did  not  walk 
like  an  Englishwoman.  I  doubted  that  she  had  any 
right  to  be  in  the  garden,  but  I  was  not  going  to  tell 
her  so;  that  was  the  business  of  the  gardeners.  I 
never  see  any  point  in  doing  my  own  barking  when 
I  keep  a  dog.  She  went  straight  up  the  central  path 
into  the  central  ring  of  shrubberies,  out  of  sight. 

Presently  I  grew  tired  of  sitting  still,  got  up  from 
the  bench  and  strolled  up  the  central  path.  Just 
before  I  came  to  the  middle  of  the  garden,  I  met 
Alice  Devine.  We  did  not  often  meet  in  the  garden 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  259 

in  the  evening — generally  it  was  in  the  afternoon. 
We  shook  hands;  she  turned  round,  and  we  went 
on  to  the  middle  of  the  garden.  She  was  wearing 
an  evening  gown,  with  a  light  filmy  kind  of  wrap 
round  her  shoulders;  and  in  the  moonlight  she 
looked,  if  anything,  prettier  than  in  the  daylight. 
I  thought  that  her  eyes  shone  like  stars. 

The  pair  of  lovers  and  the  woman  in  the  feath- 
ered hat  were  nowhere  in  sight. 

Alice  said  that  she,  too,  had  found  the  house 
stifling,  and  had  come  out  into  the  garden  for  fresh 
air.  We  both  agreed  that,  if  it  only  could  be  done, 
it  would  be  much  nicer  to  sleep  in  the  garden  on  a 
night  like  that  than  in  a  stuffy  room. 

We  came  to  the  middle  of  the  garden,  which  is 
set  with  a  ring  of  shrubberies  in  the  shape  of  a 
wheel.  The  hub  is  a  circular  clump  of  shrubs;  the 
spokes  are  narrow  shrubberies  running  from  it ;  and 
the  tire  is  a  ring  of  shrubs  about  fifteen  feet  thick. 
In  between  the  shrubberies  which  form  the  spokes 
are  little  lawns.  Each  of  these  lawns  has  a  narrow 
entrance — a  break  in  the  tire  of  the  wheel. 

We  turned  into  the  nearest  of  these  little  lawns 
and  went  to  the  seat  at  the  end  of  it,  which  was  right 
up  against  the  hub  of  the  wheel,  and  well  sheltered. 


2<5o  ALICE  DEVINE 

We  sat  down  and  began  to  talk.  We  always  had 
plenty  to  talk  about;  there  were  the  poor  children 
whom  Alice  was  in  the  habit  of  collecting  in  the 
Park.  She  had  always  plenty  to  tell  me  about  them, 
and  I  always  found  it  interesting  to  hear.  They  are 
such  rum  little  beggars.  As  we  talked  I  heard  the 
sound  of  voices,  very  faint,  on  the  lawn  on  the  other 
side  of  the  shrubbery  on  our  left.  I  just  noticed  it, 
and  no  more.  I  was  giving  my  attention  to  Alice. 

We  had  been  talking  for  about  ten  minutes,  when 
there  came  the  loud  startling  bang  of  a  revolver 
from  the  lawn  on  our  left,  and  then  a  woman's 
scream. 

Alice  sprang  up  with  a  little  cry  of  fright,  and  I 
got  up  more  slowly.  There  was  a  crashing  in  the 
shrubbery  on  our  left  and  a  man  in  evening  dress 
burst  out  of  it,  bolted  across  the  lawn  and  out  of 
the  entrance.  He  went  too  quickly  for  me  to  recog- 
nize him,  and  I  only  got  a  three-quarter  back  view 
of  him. 

"Come  on!"  I  cried  to  Alice.  "We  must  look  into 
this!" 

"No,  no!  Be  careful!  Oh,  do  be  careful!"  she 
cried,  and  she  clutched  my  arm  with  both  hands. 

"It's  all  right!"  I  said.     "They  won't  hurt  me. 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  261 

[You  wait  here  for  a  minute  or  two  and  I'll  come 
back.  You'll  be  quite  safe,"  I  said,  and  I  tried  to 
loosen  the  grip  of  her  hands. 

"No,  no;  you'll  get  hurt!"  she  cried,  holding  my 
arm  still  more  tightly. 

"But  I  must  go — I  must  really,"  I  said. 

"Then  I'm  coming,  too,"  she  said. 

"Very  well;  only  don't  be  frightened.  I'll  see 
that  you  don't  come  to  any  harm,"  I  said;  and  I 
slipped  my  arm  round  her  waist  to  keep  her  courage 
up. 

We  hurried  out  of  the  entrance  of  the  lawn  and 
I  saw  at  once  that  we  had  lost  time.  The  man  in 
evening  dress  was  already  out  of  sight,  and  there 
was  no  saying  which  way  he  had  gone.  But  in  the 
open  garden  to  our  left,  the  girl  in  evening  dress 
was  hurrying  down  a  path  that  led  to  the  left-hand 
gate. 

She  was  a  good  way  off,  but  I  shouted  to  her: 
"What's  happened?" 

She  did  not  answer ;  she  did  not  even  look  round, 
she  hurried  on. 

Then,  beyond  her,  on  another  path  also  leading 
to  the  left-hand  gate,  I  caught  a  short  glimpse  of 
the  woman  in  the  feathered  hat  as  she  passed  a  gap 


262  ALICE  DEVINE 

between  two  shrubberies.  She,  too,  was  hurrying 
fast,  as  if  the  sound  of  the  shot  had  frightened  her 
badly. 

I  hesitated  a  moment;  if  Alice  had  not  been  with 
me  I  should  probably  have  rushed  after  the  girl  in 
evening  dress.  Alone  I  could  have  caught  her  be- 
fore she  got  out  of  the  garden,  but  with  Alice  it  was 
hopeless  to  try;  the  girl  had  far  too  long  a  start. 
Then  I  hurried  Alice  to  the  entrance  of  the  lawn 
from  which  the  sound  of  the  shot  had  come.  In  the 
middle  of  it  lay  a  man,  fallen  on  his  face,  with  his 
arms  outspread.  Alice  stopped  short  at  the  sight; 
I  went  quickly  to  him,  dropped  on  one  knee,  and 
turned  him  gently  over  on  his  back.  He  looked 
to  be  a  foreigner,  a  man  of  about  thirty,  and  he 
smelt  of  garlic.  His  face  was  very  pale,  his  eyes 
were  half  closed  and  his  mouth  was  open.  I  felt 
his  wrist,  but  I  could  not  feel  any  pulse.  I  was 
quite  sure  he  was  dead. 

Alice  burst  into  a  frightened  sobbing. 

I  could  do  nothing.  It  was  a  matter  for  the  police 
and  a  doctor.  I  rose  and  said :  "Come  on,  we  must 
go  and  tell  the  police  at  once." 

I  slipped  her  arm  into  mine;  she  was  very  pale 
and  looked  very  scared ;  but  she  hurried  along  beside 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  263 

me  at  a  good  pace,  and  before  we  had  gone  fifty 
yards  she  had  stopped  sobbing. 

We  took  the  path  to  the  left-hand  gate.  When 
we  came  out  of  it,  neither  of  the  two  women  was 
in  sight.  That  side  of  the  gardens  was  empty. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  best  thing  I  could  do 
was  to  save  Alice  all  I  could.  She  would  have  to 
give  evidence  at  the  inquest,  and  that  would  be  try- 
ing enough.  I  took  her  straight  to  Scruton's  house, 
telling  her  not  to  be  too  much  distressed  about  the 
business,  and  saw  her  let  herself  in  with  her  latch- 
key. Then  I  ran,  to  the  top  of  the  gardens  and 
down  the  other  side.  At  the  bottom  I  found  Brookes 
and  told  him  what  had  happened,  and  then,  on  his 
suggestion,  we  hurried  round  to  my  house  and  told 
Richards  to  telephone  the  news  of  the  murder  to  the 
police-station.  Then  Brookes  and  I  ran  to  the  lawn 
where  the  murdered  man  was  lying. 

He  was  lying  just  as  I  had  left  him.  Brookes 
knelt  down  and  examined  him.  Then  he  shook  his 
head  and  said :  "He's  quite  dead,  m'Lord." 

Then  he  rose  and  began  to  look  about  the  lawn, 
holding  his  lantern  about  two  feet  from  the  ground 
and  searching  it  carefully.  About  six  feet  from  the 
dead  man  he  found  three  envelopes,  lying  close  to- 


264  ALICE  DEVINE 

gether.  They  were  empty,  but  all  three  were  ad- 
dressed to  Sir  Theobald  Walsh.  The  addresses 
were  typewritten.  Knowing  Walsh,  I  was  able  to 
assure  Brookes  that  the  dead  man  was  not  he,  and 
he  went  on  searching.  The  dead  man's  straw  hat 
was  lying  quite  ten  yards  from  the  body,  close  to  the 
left-hand  shrubbery,  as  if  it  had  pitched  off  his  head 
and  rolled  along  when  he  fell.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  lawn,  behind  the  dead  man,  half-way  between 
his  body  and  the  right-hand  shrubbery,  Brookes 
picked  up  a  small  revolver.  It  was  stuck  sidewise 
in  the  turf,  which,  since  it  had  been  lately  watered, 
was  soft  By  the  light  of  the  lantern  we  saw  that 
the  name  of  the  maker  was  French,  and  that  the  top 
of  the  barrel  was  choked  with  earth. 

"Now,  why  on  earth  was  it  stuck  in  the  turf  ?"  I 
said.  "It  couldn't  have  merely  been  dropped,  be- 
cause it's  not  heavy  enough  to1  stick  into  the  turf  of 
itself." 

"It  do  seem  odd,  m'Lord,"  said  Brookes. 

"Of  course,  when  people  are  excited  they  do  odd 
things,"  I  said. 

But  I  was  puzzled.  It  seemed  so  very  odd  that 
after  shooting  the  man,  the  murderer  should  have 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  265 

stuck  the  revolver  in  the  ground.  There  seemed  no 
purpose  in  it. 

Brookes  said  we  had  better  not  trample  the  lawn 
too  much,  and  we  came  out  of  it  and  waited  at  the 
entrance,  discussing  the  crime.  It  was  quite  plain 
to  us,  that  either  the  girl  in  evening  dress  or  the  man 
who  had  bolted  out  of  the  shrubbery  had  fired  the 
shot.  It  seemed  more  likely  to  be  the  man  than  the 
girl,  for  she  had  screamed  after  the  shot  had  been 
fired.  But  what  they  were  doing  with  this  seedy 
foreigner  in  Garthoyle  Gardens  passed  guessing. 

We  had  only  waited  a  few  minutes  when  an  in- 
spector of  police,  a  doctor  and  a  man  in  a  gray 
tweed  suit  came  hurrying  up.  They  were  followed 
by  two  policemen,  wheeling  an  ambulance.  I  gath- 
ered that  the  man  in  the  tweed  suit  was  a  detective 
and  that  his  name  was  Pardoe.  He  seemed  to  have 
been  at  the  station  when  Richards  telephoned.  He 
was  tall  and  thin  and  hook-nosed,  with  bushy  eye- 
brows and  thin  lips.  He  looked  like  a  hawk,  as  one 
expects  a  detective  to  look.  Most  of  them  don't. 

He  took  charge  of  the  affair  and  gave  the  orders. 
As  soon  as  the  two  policemen  came  with  the  ambu- 
lance, he  sent  them  off  to  search  the  gardens  for 


266  ALICE  DEVINE 

people  who  had  heard  the  shot  fired,  or  seen  either 
of  the  people  likely  to  have  fired  it — the  lady  or  the 
man  in  evening  dress.  Then  he  and  the  doctor  went 
on  to  the  lawn  to  the  body. 

The  doctor  knelt  down  beside  it  and  presently 
I  heard  him  say:  "Cervical  vertebras  smashed. 
Must  have  been  killed  instantly.  The  bullet  is  em- 
bedded in  the  neck.  You  can  take  him  straight 
along  to  the  mortuary,  Pardoe." 

Pardoe  himself  fetched  the  ambulance,  lifted  the 
body  on  to  it,  and  wheeled  it  out  of  the  lawn.  Then, 
by  the  light  of  the  lanterns  of  Brookes  and  the  in- 
spector he  searched  the  dead  man's  pockets.  In  the 
breast  pocket  of  the  jacket  was  a  good-sized  bag  of 
money.  He  opened  it  and  took  out  a  handful  of 
coins.  They  were  all  sovereigns.  There  was  a 
handful  of  loose  silver  and  coppers  in  one  of  the 
trousers  pockets;  and  in  one  of  the  side  pockets  of 
the  jacket  was  an  ugly-looking  sheath-knife,  such 
as  sailors  carry,  and  very  sharp.  In  the  other  side 
pocket  of  the  jacket  was  a  packet  of  Caporal  tobacco 
and  a  packet  of  cigarette-papers.  In  one  of  the 
waistcoat  pockets  was  a  cheap  black  American 
watch ;  and  in  the  other  were  four  visiting-cards  on 
which  was  printed  the  name  "Etjenne  Bechut." 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  267 

When  he  read  the  name  on  the  visiting-card,  Pardoe 
took  a  lantern  and  again  looked  at  the  dead  man's 
face  closely. 

"I  thought  I  knew  him.  A  bad  lot.  Soho,"  he 
said  in  quick  jerky  sentences. 

"Well,  if  you  know  him,  we  shan't  be  long  finding 
out  all  about  him,"  said  the  inspector  in  a  tone  of 
satisfaction. 

Then  Brookes  handed  Pardoe  the  revolver  and 
the  typewritten  envelopes  addressed  to  Sir  Theobald 
Walsh.  Pardoe  studied  them  for  a  minute  or  two, 
then  he  questioned  me  closely  and  at  length  about 
what  I  had  seen  and  heard. 

I  told  him  that  I  had  seen  a  man  in  a  tweed  suit 
and  straw  hat,  like  those  the  murdered  man  was 
wearing,  walk  up  the  central  path  of  the  garden, 
with  a  lady  in  evening  dress  with  a  scarf  round  her 
head,  that  I  was  pretty  sure  that  he  was  the  mur- 
dered man.  I  also  told  him  that  I  had  seen  the  man 
in  evening  dress  come  into  the  garden  and  go  up  the 
right-hand  path  parallel  to  the  central  path,  and  that 
a  woman,  veiled,  and  wearing  a  big  feathered  hat, 
had  gone  up  the  central  path  about  fifty  yards  be- 
hind the  lady  and  the  murdered  man,  and  that  I  had 
strolled  up  that  path  myself,  met  Alice  Devine,  and 


268  ALICE  DEVINE 

gone  with  her  into  the  lawn  on  the  left;  and  that  we 
had  heard  a  revolver  shot  and  a  scream,  and  seen 
the  man  in  evening  dress  bolt. 

"Did  you  recognize  him?"  said  Pardoe. 

"No,  I  didn't.  I  only  saw  a  little  bit  of  his  face. 
He  bolted  with  his  back  to  me,"  I  said. 

"Would  you  know  him  if  you  saw  him  again?" 
said  Pardoe. 

"No,  I  shouldn't,"  I  said. 

"Would  the  young  lady  know  him?"  inquired 
Pardoe. 

"I  don't  think  there's  a  chance  of  it,"  I  said. 
"She  got  just  the  same  view  of  him  that  I  did  and 
she  was  very  much  startled  by  the  shot  and  the 
scream." 

"That's  a  pity,"  said  Pardoe.  He  paused  and 
added :  "Did  you  see  the  lady  in  the  evening  frock 
plain  enough  to  recognize  her  again  ?" 

"No;  she  was  a  good  way  in  front  of  me  up  the 
path.  But  I  got  an  impression  that  she  was  all 
right — a  lady,  don't  you  know?"  said  I. 

"This  foreigner  hardly  looks  the  kind  of  man  a 
lady  would  be  walking  with  at  this  hour,  here,"  said 
the  doctor. 

"You're  right  there,  Doctor  Brandon,"  said  Par- 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  269 

doe  slowly.  "But  then  there's  this  bag  of  sover- 
eigns." 

"Blackmail?"  said  Doctor  Brandon. 

"Looks  very  like  it,"  said  Pardoe. 

"But  why  should  she  shoot  him?  She's  got  the 
letters,"  I  said. 

"We  don't  know  that,  m'Lord,"  said  Pardoe. 
"She  may  have  got  them  after  he  was  shot" 

"But  then  she'd  have  carried  them  off,  envelopes 
and  all.  She  wouldn't  have  waited  to  make  sure 
that  they  were  the  right  letters  and  dropped  the 
envelopes,"  I  said. 

"That's  so,"  said  Pardoe. 

"She  may  have  wanted  to  make  sure  that  he  did 
not  blackmail  her  again,  and  shot  him  as  the  best 
way  of  doing  it,"  said  Doctor  Brandon. 

"We  don't  know  that  it  was  her  who  did  shoot 
him,"  said  Pardoe. 

He  began  to  question  me  again  about  the  man  in 
evening  dress,  about  his  figure,  his  height  and 
breadth,  whether  he  walked  like  a  gentleman  or  not. 

I  told  him  what  I  could  remember  of  it;  but  it 
was  not  much.  When  the  man  came  into  the  gar- 
den, I  had  not  been  particularly  interested  in  him; 
and  that  little  cloud  had  made  the  moonlight  dim. 


2;o  ALICE  DEVINE 

Then  he  asked  in  what  position  the  murdered 
man  had  been  lying  when  I  first  came  on  the  lawn. 
I  told  him  that  he  had  been  lying  on  his  face,  and 
that  he  had  fallen  with  his  face  toward  the  left-hand 
shrubbery  out  of  which  the  man  in  evening  dress  had 
bolted.  He  asked  Doctor  Brandon  whether  a  man 
with  that  wound  would  fall  straight  forward.  Bran- 
don said  that  he  might  pitch  forward  on  his  face, 
or  he  might  spin  round  and  then  fall. 

"Well,  the  way  he  lay  doesn't  clear  the  man  in 
evening  dress  from  the  shooting;  it  leaves  the  place 
where  the  shot  came  from  quite  open,"  said  Pardoe. 

Then  he  questioned  Brookes  about  the  finding  of 
the  revolver.  He,  too,  seemed  puzzled  by  the  fact 
that  the  barrel  of  it  had  been  sticking  in  the  turf; 
and  I  pointed  out  that  it  was  lying  half-way  between 
the  body  and  the  right-hand  shrubbery,  so  that  if  the 
man  in  evening  dress  had  fired  it,  he  must  have 
bolted  right  across  the  lawn  past  the  woman.  Par- 
doe  went  on  to  question  Brookes  about  the  people 
he  had  seen  in  the  Gardens  while  on  his  beat  that 
evening.  Brookes  had  seen  none  of  the  actors  in 
the  tragedy. 

Then  the  two  policernen  who  had  been  scouring 
the  garden  for  some  one  who  had  heard  the  sound 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  271 

of  the  shot,  or  seen  the  lady  or  the  man  in  evening 
dress  as  they  came  into  the  garden  or  fled  out  of  it, 
came  back  with  the  tidings  that  they  had  not  found 
any  one  who  could  give  any  information.  They  had 
found  four  pairs  of  lovers,  but  each  pair  had  been 
so  absorbed  in  each  other's  society  that  they  had 
seen  and  heard  nothing. 

Pardoe  stood  quiet,  frowning  and  thinking;  then 
he  told  the  inspector  that  he  was  going  straight  off 
to  Soho  to  try  and  find  something  at  Bechut's  lodg- 
ing that  might  throw  some  light  on  the  matter, 
and  that  he  would  come  back  at  half  past  three, 
when  there  would  be  light  enough  to  search  the  lawn 
and  the  shrubberies  thoroughly. 

Leaving  the  inspector  and  Brookes  in  charge  of 
the  lawn,  Pardoe,  the  doctor  and  I  came  out  of  the 
garden,  followed  by  the  two  policemen  wheeling  the 
ambulance  with  the  dead  man  on  it.  I  bade  them 
good  night,  and  went  home. 

I  had  an  engagement  to  meet  a  party  at  the  Covent 
Garden  ball ;  but  I  did  not  feel  in  the  least  like  keep- 
ing it.  The  murder  had  cleared  away  any  wish  for 
a  dance.  I  went  up  to  the  library,  sat  down  in  an 
easy  chair,  and  tried  to  work  out  the  murder — 
whether  the  lady  or  the  man  had  shot  the  black- 


272  ALICE  DEVINE 

mailer.  It  was  hard  to  decide.  Also  I  could  not 
think  who  either  of  them  could  be,  though  it  was 
very  likely  that  they  were  both  tenants  of  mine.  I 
did  not  think  it  likely  that  Alice  could  throw  any 
light  on  the  matter;  she  had  seen  less  of  them  than 
I  had.  The  man  who  could  throw  light  on  it  was 
Sir  Theobald  Walsh.  He  would  know  the  sender 
of  the  letters  that  had  been  in  the  envelopes. 

At  twelve  o'clock  I  had  some  supper;  and  after  it 
I  smoked  and  read  a  novel.  I  kept  stopping  my 
reading  again  and  again  to  puzzle  over  the  crime.  I 
read  till  half  past  three;  then  I  went  back  to  the 
garden  and  found  Pardoe  and  the  inspector  just 
about  to  begin  their  examination  of  the  lawn. 

At  the  very  entrance  Pardoe  made  a  discovery. 
Hanging  from  the  projecting  bough  of  a  shrub  was 
a  black  lace  scarf.  It  was  surely  the  scarf  the  girl 
in  evening  dress  had  been  wearing  when  first  I  saw 
her  in  the  garden ;  and  it  had  been  caught  from  her 
head  by  the  branch  as  she  ran  out  of  the  lawn.  It 
was  an  expensive  scarf,  but  not  very  uncommon. 

On  the  lawn  itself  they  found  nothing  fresh;  but 
Pardoe  questioned  me  carefully  about  the  exact 
position  in  which  the  murdered  man  had  been  lymg 
before  I  turned  his  body  over.  Then  he  examined 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  273 

the  little  hole  in  the  turf  which  the  barrel  of  the 
revolver  had  made.  Then  they  searched  the  left- 
hand  shrubbery,  from  which  the  man  in  evening 
dress  had  bolted.  In  that  they  found  nothing;  not 
so  much  as  a  single  footprint,  for  the  soil  was  hard. 
They  went  on  to  search  the  shrubberies  at  the  back 
of  the  lawn,  that  is  to  say,  the  central  clump,  the 
hub  of  the  wheel,  and  then  the  shrubbery  on  the 
right  of  the  lawn.  In  that  they  found  one  of  those 
leather  wrist-bags  in  which  women  carry  their  hand- 
kerchiefs, powder-puffs  and  purses.  It  was  old 
and  worn  and  shabby.  It  might  have  been  thrown 
away  by  a  housemaid.  It  smelt  strongly  of  some 
coarse  violet  scent;  but  in  the  dry  weather  we  had 
been  having,  it  might  have  lain  there  for  a  day  or 
two  and  still  kept  the  scent. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done ;  and  I  went 
off  to  bed.  I  breakfasted  early,  and  went  round  to 
Scruton's  house  directly  after  it.  I  wanted  to  talk 
the  matter  over  with  Alice  and  prepare  her  for 
Pardoe's  visit,  which  might  frighten  her  if  she  were 
not  prepared  for  it.  I  found  that  she  had,  very  nat- 
urally, ha'd  a  bad  night,  and  was  looking  pale.  She 
was  rather  relieved  to  hear  that  the  murdered  man 
was  not  a  person  on  whom  one  need  waste  much 


274  ALICE  DEVINE 

sympathy.  She  could  throw  no  light  on  the  iden- 
tity either  of  the  man  in  evening  dress  or  of  the 
woman,  for  she  had  seen  the  man  no  more  clearly 
than  I  had ;  and  the  woman  she  had  not  seen  at  all, 
save  for  that  distant  glimpse.  Pardoe  game,  and  the 
three  of  us  discussed  the  matter  together. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  no  mention  of  the  matter 
in  the  evening  papers;  plainly  the  police  were  keep- 
ing their  own  counsel.  Pardoe  paid  me  a  visit  in 
the  afternoon  to  coach  me  in  my  evidence  at  the 
inquest;  and  I  learned  from  him  that  Sir  Theobald 
Walsh  had  declared  himself  quite  unable  to  identify 
the  three  envelopes.  That  enabled  me  to  assure  him 
that  there  was  no  chance  whatever  of  his  getting 
any  information  from  that  quarter;  having  once  said 
a  thing,  Walsh  would  stick  to  it  till  all  was  blue;  he 
is  as  stubborn  as  an  ox.  For  my  part  I  did  not 
blame  him  in  the  slightest  for  refusing  to  give  the 
woman  away.  In  any  case  he  could  not  have  done 
that;  and  since  it  was  a  matter  of  this  Soho  for- 
eigner, probably  a  blackmailer  (in  fact,  Walsh  must 
know  that  he  was  a  blackmailer),  it  made  his  course 
all  the  plainer. 

The  inquest  brought  no  new  facts  to  light,  if  any- 
thing made  it  plainer  that  the  crime  was  a  really 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY,  275 

complicated  affair.  It  made  it  quite  clear  that  the 
revolver  had  most  likely  been  fired  from  the  right- 
hand  shrubbery;  and  the  coroner  brought  out  the 
fact  that  it  was  very  unlikely  that  it  had  been  fired 
by  the  girl  in  evening  dress,  since  she  had  screamed 
after  the  shot  had  been  fired,  and  not  before  it.  It 
certainly  looked  as  if  the  report  had  frightened  and 
surprised  her. 

The  coroner  had  a  great  struggle  with  Walsh, 
trying  to  get  information  from  him  about  the  en- 
velopes. Walsh  stuck  to  his  guns;  he  said  that  he 
did  not  identify  the  envelopes;  that  all  three  of  them 
were  different;  and  that  in  the  last  month  he  had 
had  hundreds  of  typewritten  envelopes  from  trades- 
men, charitable  institutions,  his  solicitors  and  so  on. 

There  were  not  many  people  at  the  inquest  But 
among  them  I  noticed  the  piebald  duke;  and  I  saw 
that  he  was  taking  a  great  interest  in  the  evidence. 
I  was  a  good  deal  surprised  to  see  him  there;  for  I 
had  not  known  that  he  was  one  of  those  people  who 
are  keen  on  crimes  and  trials.  Indeed,  he  had  never 
struck  me  as  being  at  all  morbid. 

But  I  was  a  good  deal  more  surprised  by  the  fact 
that  there  was  no  newspaper  storm.  I  had  expected 
that  there  would  be  columns  and  columns  about  the 


276  ALICE  DEVINE 

business  in  the  evening  papers.  I  could  find  no 
report  of  the  inquest  in  any  single  one  of  them,  nor 
in  the  morning  papers.  Some  one  had  done  a  lot 
of  squaring.  This  certainly  deepened  the  mystery. 

Now,  Walsh  had  the  key  of  it  He  must  know 
who  the  girl'  in  evening  dress  was ;  and  he  probably 
knew,  or  could  guess,  who  the  man  who  had  bolted 
was.  In  the  case  of  any  other  man  but  Walsh,  it 
svould  have  been  possible  to  guess  the  lady.  In  the 
case  of  Walsh  it  was  practically  impossible — there 
were  too  many  of  them.  There  were  three  at  any 
rate  in  Garthoyle  Gardens;  and  half  a  dozen  more 
lived  within  half  a  mile  of  them,  I  have  never  been 
able  to  understand  why  that  hulking  brute  had  such 
an  attraction  for  women;  but  there  it  was.  I  could 
riot  fix  on  any  one  of  them  as  the  woman  I  had  seen. 

It  was  curious,  how  after  the  inquest  nothing 
seemed  to  happen.  The  affair  fell  dead.  Yet  I 
know  that  the  police  went  on  hunting,  for  I  saw 
Pardoe  about  the  Gardens  frequently;  and  three  or 
four  times  he  came  to  see  me  to  talk  about  little 
clues  he  had  found.  They  were  not  of  any  value. 
I  had  an  idea  that  he  believed  that  I,  like  Walsh, 
knew  more  about  the  business  than  I  said;  that  I 
could  have  told  him  who  the  girl  in  evening  dress 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  277 

and  the  man  who  had  bolted  were.  He  was  always 
trying  to  trip  me  up  by  sudden  questions. 

One  day  I  said  to  him :  "Look  here,  Pardoe,  it's 
not  a  bit  of  good  your  trying  to  catch  me  out,  be- 
cause I  don't  know.  I  don't  say  that  if  I  did,  I'd  tell 
you.  Very  probably  I  shouldn't.  But  I  don't 
know." 

"You  people  do  hang  together  so,  my  Lord,"  said 
Pardoe  grumpily. 

"Why  don't  you  get  it  out  of  Walsh?"  I  said. 

Pardoe  shook  his  head. 

It  was  clear  to  me  that  the  police  were  balked. 
They  had  not  traced  the  black  lace  scarf  to  any  one ; 
and  they  could  not  find  the  woman  in  the  feathered 
hat.  She  had  bolted  after  the  revolver  had  been 
fired;  and  it  seemed  likely  that  she  could  throw 
some  light  on  the  matter.  I  suggested  to  Pardoe 
that  they  should  advertise  for  her.  Pardoe  only 
shook  his  head  and  said  that  if  she  were  a  foreigner, 
as  my  description  of  her  suggested,  it  was  any  odds 
that  she  would  not  read  the  English  papers,  and  the 
advertisement  would  be  wasted.  But  after  all  he 
did  advertise  for  her;  for  I  saw  the  advertisement 
in  the  agony  column  of  the  Daily  Mail. 

In  the  meantime  I  went  on  making  quiet  inquiries 


278  ALICE  DEVINE 

myself.  If  I  had  discovered  anything,  I  had  no 
great  intention  of  informing  the  police  of  it.  I 
meant  to  exercise  my  discretion.  I  was  not  going 
to  get  any  of  my  friends,  or  even  my  tenants,  into 
the  mess  of  a  lifetime  on  account  of  a  wretched, 
blackmailing  foreigner.  I  made  the  inquiries  en- 
tirely on  my  own  account.  The  murder  had  excited 
my  curiosity  as  nothing  else  in  my  life  had  ever 
excited  it;  and  I  wanted  to  satisfy  it. 

Everything  turned  on  the  question,  who  was  the 
woman  in  the  evening  frock?  If  I  could  find  her, 
I  could  find  the  man  who  had  bolted  from  the  shrub- 
bery. I  had  no  doubt  that  one  or  the  other  of  them 
had  shot  the  blackmailer. 

It  was  most  likely  that  she  was  one  of  my  tenants, 
or  rather  a  wife,  or  daughter,  of  one  of  my  tenants. 
She  plainly  knew  the  central  garden  well.  Also  she 
was  one  of  the  ladies  who  was,  or  had  been,  attached 
to  Walsh.  There  were  three  of  these  ladies  in  Gar- 
thoyle  Gardens;  and  the  girl  I  had  seen  walking 
with  the  blackmailer  might  have  been  any  one  of 
the  three.  Two  of  them,  indeed,  were  dark  and  one 
fair;  but  since  th£  girl  in  the  garden  had  had  her 
hair  wrapped  in  a  scarf  I  had  not  been  able  to  tell 
whether  she  was  dark  or  fair,  while  as  regards 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  279 

figure,  the  three  ladies  who  loved,  or  had  loved 
Walsh,  were  about  the  same  height  and  breadth. 
The  girl  I  had  seen  might  be  any  one  of  the  three. 

I  set  about  trying  to  find  out  what  these  three 
ladies  were  doing  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  mak- 
ing my  inquiries  as  quietly  as  possible.  I  found 
them  very  difficult  inquiries  to  make ;  it  was  so  hard 
to  make  any  reason  for  wanting  to  know  such  a 
fact.  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  only  way  to 
make  such  inquiries  was  to  be  a  policeman.  Then 
you  go  straight  to  the  person  whom  you  want  the 
information  about  and  say  straight  out:  "What 
were  you  doing  on  such  and  such  a  night  ?" 

I  inquired  and  inquired,  and  I  did  not  get  the 
information.  I  saw  two  of  the  ladies  several  times 
in  the  gardens,  or  at  other  people's  houses.  If 
either  of  them  had  committed  the  murder,  they  were 
very  good  actresses,  or  very  sure  of  not  being  found 
out ;  and  shooting  a  blackmailer  did  not  weigh  at  all 
heavily  on  their  minds.  But  I  did  not  come  across 
the  third  lady  anywhere,  though  I  had  been  meeting 
her  about  often  enough  before  the  murder;  and  I 
began  to  fancy  that  she  was  keeping  out  of  sight. 
Then,  coming  into  the  Palladium  late  one  night,  I 
found  her  husband  in  the  smoking-room;  and  I  saw 


280  ALICE  DEVINE 

at  once  that  he  was  looking  very  much  off  color.  I 
kept  my  eye  on  him,  wondering;  and  I  saw  that  he 
was  fidgety  and  restless,  and  very  nervous.  He  had 
a  way  of  looking  at  the  door,  whenever  it  opened, 
with  a  frightened  stare  that  made  me  think  he  was 
expecting  to  see  a  policeman  come  in  at  any  mo- 
ment and  collar  him.  After  that  I  only  tried  to  find 
out  what  he  and  his  wife  had  been  doing  on  the 
night  of  the  murder.  I  thought  I  was  getting  warm. 

Then  one  night  about  a  week  later,  when  I  was 
playing  baccarat  at  Scruton's,  I  noticed  that  the  pie- 
bald duke  kept  looking  at  me  in  a  rather  odd  way. 
The  interest  he  was  taking  in  me  must  have  put 
him  off  his  usual  game,  for  he  actually  won — over 
four  thousand. 

As  usual  the  party  broke  up  about  half  past  three ; 
and  just  as  I  was  going  out  of  the  house,  the  duke 
called  to  me:  "Half  a  minute,  Garthoyle,  I'll  stroll 
along  with  you." 

We  came  out  of  the  house  together;  and  at  the 
bottom  of  the  steps  he  said:  "Are  you  in  a  hurry 
to  go  to  bed?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  I.  "After  a  long  gamble  like 
that  I'm  often  quite  a  time  getting  to  sleep;  and 
a  quiet  stroll  and  some  fresh  air  are  soothing." 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  281 

"Have  you  got  the  key  of  that  middle  garden  of 
yours  on  you?"  he  said.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you; 
and  the  air  in  the  garden  will  be  fresher  and  less 
dusty  than  here." 

I  had  a  key  on  me;  and  we  went  into  the  garden. 

"You  might  take  me  to  the  lawn  where  that 
foreign  blackguard  got  shot,"  said  the  duke. 

The  words  "foreign  blackguard"  were  rather 
an  eye-opener.  I  saw  that  the  duke  knew  some- 
thing about  the  matter;  more,  in  fact,  than  I  did.  I 
took  him  straight  to  the  lawn. 

He  looked  slowly  round  it  and  said :  "It's  about 
that  murder  that  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  know 
who  the  lady  was  who  was  blackmailed;  and  I 
know  who  the  man  was  who  bolted  out  of  this 
shrubbery  past  you." 

"The  deuce  you  do!"  said  I. 

"Yes,"  said  the  duke.  "They  came  to  me  and 
put  themselves  into  my  hands  in  the  matter.  If 
you  go  on  much  further  with  these  inquiries  you're 
making,  you'll  find  out  who  they  were  yourself. 
That  wouldn't  matter  much,  because  you  would 
very  probably  keep  your  discoveries  quiet.  But  it's 
your  inquiries  that  are  dangerous.  In  enlighten- 
ing yourself  you  will  very  likely  enlighten  the  peo- 


282  ALICE  DEVINE 

pie  who,  if  they  got  the  information,  would  do  a  lot 
of  harm  in  the  way  of  causing  an  infernal  scan- 
dal. Now,  I  want  to  give  you  my  assurance  that 
I  am  absolutely  convinced  that  neither  of  these  two 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  shooting.  Both  of 
them  were  as  much  surprised  by  the  report  of  that 
revolver  as  you  were  yourself;  and,  as  you  say, 
both  of  them  bolted.  They  bolted  in  a  hurry  of 
course ;  but  I  believe  that  it  was  the  very  best  thing 
they  could  have  done  under  the  circumstances,  for 
they  were  very  awkward.  Now,  I  don't  know 
whether  you  care  to  accept  my  assurance  that 
those  two  are  innocent;  but  after  what  they  told 
me,  and  after  testing  their  story,  I  am  absolutely 
convinced  of  their  innocence." 

"Of  course  I'll  take  your  assurance,"  I  said 
quickly.  "I'd  sooner  take  your  judgment  in  a 
matter  like  this  than  anybody's." 

"Thank  you.  I  thought  you  would,"  he  said; 
and  he  sighed  as  if  I  had  taken  a  weight  off  his 
mind. 

Then  he  walked  to  the  middle  of  the  lawn  and 
stopped  and  said:  "There  are  one  or  two  points 
which  support  my  judgment.  The  man  lay 
here" — he  tapped  the  turf  with  his  foot — "and 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  283 

the  revolver  lay  here,  half-way  between  the  man 
and  the  right-hand  shrubbery.  The  man  who 
bolted,  bolted  from  the  left-hand  shrubbery  on  the 
other  side  of  the  body.  My  opinion  is  that  the 
shot  was  fired  from  the  right-hand  shrubbery." 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "I  noticed  that;  and  it  does 
rather  complicate  the  matter.  It  lets  the  man  out 
pretty  well;  but  it  rather  makes  it  look  as  if  the 
woman  fired  the  shot" 

"Yes ;  but  you  yourself  brought  out  the  fact  quite 
clearly  that  she  screamed  after  the  shot  was  fired. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  she  told  me  the  truth  when 
she  said  that  she  screamed  because  the  shot  sur- 
prised and  frightened  her.  Besides,  she  had  already 
got  the  letters;  why  should  she  shoot  the  black- 
guard?" 

"Well,  but  if  neither  of  those  two  fired  the  shot, 
who  on  earth  did?"  said  I. 

"Well,  I  think  that  the  police  did  not  attach 
enough  importance  to  the  wrist-bag  they  found  in 
the  right-hand  shrubbery,  and  to  the  fact  that  the 
revolver  was  of  French  make.  Those  seem  to  me 
to  be  the  real  clues,"  said  the  duke. 

"Then  who  do  you  think  the  murderer  was?" 
said  I. 


284  ALICE  DEVINE 

"The  woman  in  the  feathered  hat,"  said  the 
duke. 

"The  deuce  you  do !"  said  I. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  the  duke,  in  a  tone  of  absolute 
certainty.  "You  say  the  woman  walked  like  a 
foreigner.  The  man  was  a  foreigner.  She  was 
veiled.  I  believe  she  was  following  this  black- 
mailing scoundrel  and  the  lady;  that  she  followed 
them  right  to  the  lawn  where  "he  handed  over  the 
letters,  and  slipped  into  the  right-hand  shrubbery 
to  watch  them.  After  the  shot  was  fired,  you  saw 
her  running  away.  She  has  disappeared  entirely, 
though  the  police  made  every  effort  to  find  her,  in 
case  she  could  throw  some  light  on  the  affair.  She 
never  answered  their  advertisement.  Why  is  she 
hiding?" 

"These  are  pretty  awkward  facts,"  I  said.  "I 
shall  have  to  work  it  out  afresh  from  this  new 
point  of  view.  Didn't  either  the  lady  or  her  hus- 
band— I  take  it  that  it  was  her  husband — see  this 
woman  ?" 

"No;  they  only  saw  the  flash  of  the  revolver, 
and  both  of  them  declared  it  came  from  the  right- 
hand  shrubbery,"  said  the  duke. 

"These  are  certainly  new  facts,"  said  I. 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  285 

"And  you  might  put  them  to  that  infernal  de- 
tective who  is  always  nosing  about — Pardoe.  He 
comes  to  see  you.  Working  on  his  present  lines, 
it's  just  possible  he  might  discover  these  two  in- 
nocent people  and  make  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 
It  doesn't  seem  likely;  and  I've  seen  to  it  that  the 
police  are  not  being  encouraged  to  show  too  much 
zeal  in  the  matter.  If  you  could  put  them  on  the 
right  track,  the  trail  of  the  woman  in  the  feathered 
hat — it  would  be  a  great  relief;  and  they  may  show 
as  much  zeal  as  ever  they  like." 

"I'll  try  my  best  to  put  them  on  it,"  said  I. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  duke. 

We  turned  and  walked  to  the  bottom  of  the  gar- 
den. As  we  came  out  of  the  gate  I  said:  "I  sup- 
pose, whether  the  police  come  into  it  or  not,  this 
business  has  smashed  up  those  two  people's  lives 
pretty  badly?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  the  duke  slowly.  "I 
think  that  it  will  be  rather  the  other  way  about. 
They  were  drifting  apart,  but  this  business — being 
in  this  mess  together — is  rather  drawing  them  to- 
gether again." 

"That's  all  right,"  I  said. 

After  considering  the  matter,  I  thought  I  had 


286  ALICE  DEVINE 

better  lose  no  time  putting  the  police  on  the  trail 
of  the  woman  in  the  feathered  hat.  If  I  waited 
till  Pardoe's  next  visit,  he  might  in  the  meantime 
light  on  the  two  unfortunates  whom  the  duke 
wished  to  save  from  the  scandal.  I  therefore  sen£ 
a  wire  to  the  detective  asking  him  to  look  me  up  in 
the  afternoon,  and  at  three  o'clock  he  turned  up, 
looking  rather  eager,  as  if  he  expected  to  learn 
something  from  me. 

I  gave  him  a  whisky-and-soda  and  a  cigar;  and 
when  he  settled  down  comfortably  I  said: 

"Well,  Mr.  Pardoe,  at  last  I  have  discovered 
who  murdered  Etienne  Bechut.  It  was  neither  the 
lady  he  was  blackmailing  nor  the  man  in  evening 
dress.  They  do  not,  very  naturally,  want  to  appear 
in  this  matter;  and  they  have  put  themselves  into 
the  hands  of  a  third  person  and  told  him  all  they 
know  about  it." 

"They  have,  have  they?"  said  Pardoe  quickly. 

"They  have;  and  I  am  absolutely  convinced  that 
they  had  nothing  to  do  with  shooting  that  black- 
mailing scoundrel." 

Pardoe  scratched  his  head  and  looked  at  me  very 
keenly;  then  he  said:  "You'll  excuse  me  asking 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  287 

you,  m'Lord,  but  do  you  really,  honestly  and  truly 
believe  that?" 

"I  give  you  my  word  that  I  believe  them  to  be 
absolutely  innocent,"  said  I. 

He  hesitated  for  a  few  seconds  and  then  he  said : 
"I  take  it,  m'Lord,  that  you're  the  person  they  put 
themselves  into  the  hands  of?" 

I  said  nothing. 

"Well,  my  Lord,  what  are  your  new  facts?"  he 
said. 

"The  shot  was  fired  from  the  right-hand  shrub- 
bery by  the  woman  in  the  feathered  hat,"  I  said. 

He  frowned  thoughtfully  and  said:  "I've 
thought  about  her  a  good  many  times.  It  was  odd 
that  she  bolted  in  such  a  hurry  and  never  came 
forward,  even  when  we  advertised.  We  ought 
to  have  been  able  to  find  out  something  about  her — 
we  tried  hard  enough — but  we  didn't." 

"Well,  <my  theory  is,  that  she  was  following 
Bechut  for  some  reason  or  other,  carrying  with 
her  the  revolver,  in  the  wrist-bag  you  found  in 
the  right-hand  shrubbery.  She  saw  him  meet  the 
lady  and  followed  them  right  to  the  lawn,  and 
slipped  into  the  right-hand  shrubbery,  watched 


288  ALICE  DEVINE 

them,  took  the  revolver  out  of  the  bag,  dropped  the 
bag,  shot  Bechut  and  threw  the  revolver  on  the 
lawn  so  that  it  stuck  in  the  turf.  It's  just  the  kind 
of  thing  an  excited  woman  would  do  after  firing 
it.  Then  she  bolted." 

Pardoe  sat  very  still,  frowning,  then  he  said : 
"There  may  be  something  in  this.  The  facts  fit 
in  all  right.  I'll  look  for  her  in  Soho." 

"And  mind  you  let  me  know  if  you  find  her," 
said  I. 

"I  will,  my  Lord,"  said  Pardoe. 

He  asked  me  a  good  many  questions  about  the 
woman  in  the  feathered  hat;  her  height,  her 
breadth,  the  color  of  her  hair,  the  color  and  shape 
of  her  dress,  the  shape  of  the  feathers  in  her  hat, 
and  the  color  of  her  boots.  I  answered  his  ques- 
tions as  well  as  I  could  remember  the  details. 
Then  he  finished  his  whisky-and-soda,  wished  me 
good  afternoon  and  went  away. 

During  the  next  three  days  I  wondered  how  he 
was  getting  on.  Then  on  the  fourth  morning  he 
came  again.  I  went  up  to  him  in  the  library,  and 
when  we  were  settled  down  he  said : 

"Well,  m'Lord,  I've  found  the  woman  in  the 
feathered  hat — or,  to  be  exact,  I've  got  on  her 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  289 

track.  This  man  Bechut  was  mixed  up  in  half  a 
dozen  shady  games — white  slave  traffic  and  black- 
mailing— and  this  woman,  Cesarine  Thibaudier, 
helped  him.  She  seems  to  have  been  infatuated 
with  him,  and  just  as  jealous  as  could  be.  She  was 
always  quarreling  with  him  about  other  women,  and 
half  a  dozen  times  different  people  heard  her 
threaten  to  murder  him  if  ever  she  caught  him 
carrying  on  with  any  one.  He  must  have  got  jolly 
well  tired  of  it  all,  for  I  found  out  long  ago  that 
he  had  arranged  to  slip  quietly  away  to  France  as 
soon  as  he  got  the  money  for  the  letters.  He  was 
just  running  away  from  her.  She  found  out  this 
plan  of  his  and  rowed  him  about  it;  for  she'd  made 
up  her  mind  that  he  was  going  off  with  another 
woman.  After  that  she  must  have  watched  him 
and  followed  him." 

"It  seems  to  look  very  promising,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  it  does  fit  in,"  said  Pardoe.  "And  then, 
without  a  word  to  anybody,  she  went  off  at  six 
o'clock  on  the  morning  after  the  murder  and  has 
not  been  seen  since.  Probably  she's  in  Paris." 

"Well,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  catch  her  without 
much  difficulty,"  I  said.  "Will  you  go  over  to  Paris 
yourself  ?" 


29o  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Wait  a  bit — wait  a  bit,  my  Lord,"  said  Pardoe, 
smiling.  "Where's  our  evidence?  I've  not  been 
able  to  find  any  one  who  saw  Cesarine  Thibaudier 
nearer  Garthoyle  Gardens  than  Soho.  It's  true  I 
found  two  of  her  friends  who  declare  that  the 
wrist-bag  we  found  is  the  very  image  of  one  that 
belonged  to  her;  but  it's  a  very  common  pattern. 
In  fact,  I  counted  nine  women  in  Soho  carrying  the 
identical  wrist-bag,  in  the  course  of  one  morning. 
Also,  Cesarine  Thibaudier  used  the  scent  of  violets, 
of  which  the  bag  smelt.  But  the  two  women  who 
told  me  so  smelt  of  it  themselves.  I  have  not  been 
able  to  trace  the  revolver  to  her;  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  belonged  to  Bechut  himself,  and  she 
stole  it.  Again,  neither  the  lady  who  was  black- 
mailed, nor  the  man  who  bolted,  saw  anything  of 
the  person  who  fired  the  shot;  or,  I  take  it,  they 
would  have  told  you  about  it.  Unless  this  woman 
chooses  to  confess — and  she  doesn't  seem  the  kind 
who  confess — we  haven't  enough  evidence  to  hang 
a  cat  on." 

I  got  up  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  It 
sounded  extremely  annoying.  I  certainly  had  no 
particular  feelings  for  the  blackmailer  himself,  but 


THE  BECHUT  MYSTERY  291 

©ne  has  a  feeling  that  when  a  murder  has  been 
committed,  somebody  ought  to  be  hanged. 

"All  the  same,  I  am  quite  convinced  that  this 
woman  followed  Bechut  to  Garthoyle  Gardens, 
carrying  that  revolver  in  the  wrist-bag,  and  shot 
him  from  the  shrubbery/'  I  said. 

"I'm  inclined  to  think  it  was  so  myself,"  said 
Pardoe. 

"Well,  I'm  quite  sure  of  it,"  I  said.  "I  think 
she  ought  to  be  tried." 

Pardoe  took  a  long  pull  at  his  whisky-and-soda ; 
then  he  said :  "Ah,  my  Lord,  if  we  were  to  arrest 
all  the  people  we're  sure  have  Committed  murder 
we  could  keep  the  Central  Criminal  Court  going 
with  murder  trials  for  the  next  six  months.  But 
I  don't  suppose  we'd  get  one  in  ten  of  them  hanged. 
Murder's  one  thing,  and  evidence  is  another." 

"It's  very  cheery  hearing,"  I  said. 

He  finished  his  whisky-and-soda  and  went  away. 
He  has  not  been  to  see  me  since,  nor  have  I  heard 
that  the  police  have  arrested  Cesarine  Thibaudier. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WALSH  INTERVENES 

IT  was  a  blessing  to  have  the  Bechut  affair 
cleared  up  without  any  severe  scandal,  such  as 
might  very  well  have  arisen  from  it.  Over  it  I 
had  grown  friendlier  than  ever  with  Alice  Devine, 
for  there  was  so  much  in  it  which  we  had  to  dis- 
cuss together.  But  I  had  never  grown  quite  com- 
fortable in  mind  about  her  uncle.  Now  and  then 
fresh  evidence  turned  up  that  Scruton  was  really  a 
millionaire;  and  the  clearer  that  grew,  the  more 
difficult  it  was  to  understand  why  he  had  tricked 
my  uncle,  and  tried  to  trick  me,  into  letting  him 
have  his  house  rent-free  by  setting  Alice  to  play 
that  ghost  trick  on  us.  I  might  have  thought  that 
it  was  his  idea  of  a  joke,  if  he  had  ever  shown  any 
other  signs  of  a  humorous  disposition;  but  he  did 
not.  I  never  came  across  anybody  more  serious. 
Besides,  he  had  never  paid  the  quarter's  rent  out  of 
which  he  had  tricked  my  Uncle  Algernon,  as  he 

292 


WALSH  INTERVENES  293 

should  have  done  if  it  was  a  joke.  But,  of  course, 
his  being  a  millionaire  would  explain  that.  Mil- 
lionaires never  part 

I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind  that  his  baccarat 
parties  were  on  the  square.  Too  many  of  the 
keenest  gamblers  in  London,  men  who  could  not 
be  cheated  for  any  length  of  time,  played  at  them 
regularly,  week  after  week.  The  only  time  that 
there  had  been  anything  wrong  at  them  was  when 
the  sham  Nugget  rooked  us  of  twelve  thousand, 
and  I  was  quite  sure  that  Scruton  was  not  standing 
in  with  him.  I  could  not  understand,  however, 
why  he  gave  these  parties  so  often,  for  though  he 
played  most  of  the  time  himself,  he  did  not  seem  at 
all  a  keen  gambler,  and  not  once  did  I  see  him 
plunge  heavily.  Again,  he  did  not  use  those  parties 
as  a  means  of  rising  in  the  social  scale.  He  seemed 
to  have  no  ambition  that  way.  I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  my  idea,  that  it  was  his  hobby  to  have 
the  severest  gambling  in  London  at  his  house,  was 
the  right  one.  I  always  noticed  that  he  kept  a 
close  eye  on  our  winnings  and  losings;  and  at  the 
end  of  each  party  he  would  rub  his  hands  together, 
and  say  gleefully  that  twenty-five  or  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds  had  changed  hands  in  the  course  of 


294  ALICE  DEVINE 

the  evening;  and  then  he  always  added:  "Fine 
gambling — first-class  gambling!  Eh?  What!" 

But  it  did  seem  to  me  a  trifle  thick  that  he  should 
use  Alice  as  an  attraction  to  bring  men  to  his 
parties,  if  they  were  merely  his  hobby.  It  would 
have  been  more  excusable  if  he  had  been  playing 
some  shady  game  with  them.  But  there,  million- 
aires are  queer  fish. 

I  went  to  most  of  his  parties,  .and  every  time  I 
went  I  was  annoyed  afresh  to  find  Alice  being  used 
as  a  decoy.  It  was  really  no  business  of  mine, 
except  that  she  and  I  were  growing  more  and  more 
friendly.  In  fact,  I  liked  to  go  to  them  chiefly 
because  I  could  keep  an  eye  on  her  and  see  that 
she  was  not  annoyed  by  any  of  her  uncle's  guests. 
I  felt  that  that  was  rather  my  business,  since,  by 
helping  Freddy  Gage  to  carry  off  and  marry  Kitty 
Maynard,  I  had  robbed  Alice  of  her  chief  support. 
If  Kitty  Maynard  had  also  been  used  by  Scruton 
as  a  decoy,  none  the  less  she  had  been  a  support  to 
Alice.  New  guests  who  did  not  know  the  ropes 
were  apt  to  be  familiar  and  needed  checking.  I 
did  it 

One  night,  some  one  who  ought  to  have  known 
better — I  think  it  was  Alperton — brought  with 


WALSH  INTERVENES  295 

him  a  bubbling  young  stock-broker.  I  suppose 
the  stock-broker  had,  put  him  on  to  a  good  thing  in 
oil  or  rubber.  They  had  done  themselves  not  wisely 
but  too  well  at  dinner,  and  the  young  stock-broker 
was  in  very  high  feather  at  finding  himself  among 
what  he  called  "the  nobility."  He  seemed  also 
to  be  considered  a  fascinating  fellow  in  his  circle 
and  he  set  himself  to  fascinate  Alice  in  what  I 
suppose  is  the  stock-brokerly  way.  Alice  snubbed 
him  with  a  quiet  straightforwardness  that  would 
have  shut  up  any  decent  sort  of  chap,  and  I  told 
him  quite  plainly  to  hold  his  tongue.  It  did  not 
seem  to  have  any  effect.  Alice  rose  and  went  to 
the  door;  he  followed  her,  apologizing.  I  opened 
the  door  for  her;  she  went  out  and  he  went  out 
after  her,  still  apologizing.  Then,  on  the  empty 
landing,  I  was  on  him  like  a  knife.  I  got  him 
comfortably  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  ran  him  down 
the  stairs,  along  the  hall  to  the  front  door.  The 
butler  opened  it  smartly,  and  I  kicked  my  young 
friend  heartily  down  the  steps.  He  did  not  come 
back  for  his  hat. 

I  came  quietly  back  up  the  stairs  and  found 
Alice  leaning  over  the  banisters  of  the  landing, 
from  which  she  had  watched  the  young  cad's  de- 


296  ALICE  DEVINE 

parture.  There  was  a  very  fine  flush  on  her  face 
and  her  eyes  were  sparkling  quite  fiercely. 

"Oh,  I'm  3o  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  said.  "I 
wonder  how  that  cad  got  into  the  house?" 

"Must  have  sneaked  in  at  the  back  door,"  I  said. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  he  will  come  again,"  she 
said. 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  He  only  got  what  he 
was  asking  for.  Perhaps  he  likes  it  and  will  come 
back  for  more,"  said  I. 

"I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  said  again; 
and  she  moved  toward  the  stairs  to  the  second  floor. 

"Don't  let  him  drive  you  off  to  bed,"  I  said. 
"It's  quite  early  yet." 

She  hesitated  a  moment;  and  then  she  came  back 
into  the  baccarat  room  with  me.  We  went  on  to 
the  balcony  and  had  a  very  pleasant  half -hour's 
talk. 

That  bubbling  young  stock-broker  was  only  a 
passing  nuisance  as  it  were;  Sir  Theobald  Walsh 
was  a  nuisance  every  time.  He  had  been  a  guest 
at  Scruton's  parties  since  the  beginning,  long  be- 
fore I  had  ever  come  to  one.  He  seemed  to  think, 
or  at  any  rate  he  pretended  to  think,  that  that  gave 
him  some  kind  of  a  claim  on  Alice,  and  unless 


WALSH  INTERVENES  297 

something  prevented  him,  he  always  spent  a  good 
deal  of  the  evening  hanging  over  her  and  talking 
to  her  with  a  proprietary  air. 

Now,  as  I  have  said,  Walsh  is  not  at  all  the  kind 
of  man  one  likes  to  see  hanging  about  a  nice  girl. 
Married  women  are  all  very  well,  but  a  young  girl 
is  different.  Besides,  it  wasn't  only  Walsh's  ways, 
and  what  we  all  know  about  him  among  ourselves, 
but  his  bad  character  was  notorious.  He  had  not 
only  appeared  in  the  Divorce  Court  as  co-respondent 
in  the  Cumberly  scandal;  but  at  the  inquest  on  the 
unfortunate  Mrs.  Bulkeley  it  came  out  that  she  had 
committed  suicide  owing  to  the  blackguardly  way  in 
which  he  treated  her.  Also  I  happened  to  know  of 
the  orgies — they  were  really  orgies — which  he  held 
at  The  Cedars,  his  country  house  near  Pinner. 
Naturally  he  was  not  the  kind  of  man  who  could 
hang  about  a  girl  without  harming  her  reputation, 
and  whenever  I  saw  him  hanging  about  Alice  I 
interrupted. 

He  hated  to  be  interrupted,  but  I  never  missed 
a  chance  of  doing  it.  I  joined  in  their  talk,  or 
rather  I  joined  in  his  talk — for  Alice  had  very 
little  to  say  to  him — firmly;  and  every  time  we  were 
soon  snapping  freely.  I  would  sneer  at  things  he 


298  ALICE  DEVINE 

said,  and  he  would  sneer  at  tilings  I  said,  till  our 
conversation  grew  rather  cheery.  Nearly  always 
before  ten  minutes  were  up,  I  got  him  rabid  and 
snarling,  and  generally  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour 
I  drove  him  off  to  the  card-table.  He  must  have 
lost  quite  a  lot  of  money  from  playing  baccarat  in 
a  bad  temper.  Sometimes,  however,  he  would 
stick  it  out  till  Alice  went  off  to  bed. 

Alice  enjoyed  our  little  bickerings  up  to  a  certain 
point;  when  Walsh  began  really  to  snarl  it  made 
her  uncomfortable.  I  scored  because  she  was  al- 
ways on  my  side.  In  fact,  as  far  as  Walsh's  getting 
encouragement  from  her  went,  there  should  have 
been  no  need  for  me  to  interfere  at  all.  She  snub- 
bed him  straight  and  steadily  all  the  time.  But  he 
could  get  on  without  any  encouragement.  She 
might  have  snubbed  him  ninety-nine  evenings  run- 
ning, and  the  hundredth  he  would  have  turned  up 
scowling,  driven  away  any  one  except  me,  who 
happened  to  be  talking  to  her,  and  then  leaned  over 
her  and  talked  to  her  for  an  hour,  in  a  low  con- 
fidential voice,  with  his  air  of  a  proprietor. 

One  night — we  had  grown  quite  friendly  enough 
— I  said  to  her:  "I  say,  I  wish  you  would  keep 
away  from  these  gambling  parties.  I  know  it's 


WALSH  INTERVENES  399 

pretty  dull  for  you,  and  they  make  an  amusing 
break.  But  all  the  same,  they're  not  quite  the 
thing  for  you,  don't  you  know  ?" 

She  frowned  a  little  and  said  slowly:  "Oh,  I 
'don't  come  to  them  because  they  break  the  dulness, 
but  because  my  uncle  makes  a  point  of  it." 

"I  shouldn't  take  any  notice  of  that,  if  I  were 
you,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  but  I  must,"  she  said.  "Here  I  am  living 
in  his  house,  practically  dependent  on  him;  and 
I  must  do  what  he  asks  me.  And  what  forces 
me  to  do  it  more  than  anything  else  is  that  it's 
the  only  thing  he  does  ask  me." 

"Well,  if  that's  so,  I  must  keep  on  being  sociable 
with  Walsh,"  said  I. 

"You  do  annoy  him,"  she  said;  and  she  laughed 
softly. 

"I  do  it  for  his  good,"  said  I. 

I  kept  on  being  good  to  Walsh,  and  at  last  I 
worked  him  up  to  a  state  of  first-class  fury.  When- 
ever he  saw  me  his  eyes  began  to  sparkle,  and  his 
usual  amiable  scowl  grew  blacker  and  blacker. 

Then  one  night  I  had  been  particularly  bland 
with  him,  and  though  we  came  out  of  Number  9  in 
a  nice  bright  morning  light,  and  he  should  have 


300  ALICE  DEVINE 

had  time  to  cool,  since  Alice  had  been  in  bed  this 
four  hours,  it  seemed  that  he  was  boiling  still. 

I  went  down  the  steps  first  and  walked  toward 
my  house,  expecting  him  to  keep  his  distance  behind 
me,  for  outside  Scruton's  I  always  cut  him. 

But  he  caught  me  up  at  once  and  said:  "Look 
here,  Garthoyle:  we've  got  to  come  to  some  ar- 
rangement about  that  girl  of  Scruton's." 

"That's  a  pretty  way  of  speaking  of  Miss  De- 
vine,"  I  said. 

"I'm  not  in  a  punctilious  temper  to-night,"  he 
said  savagely.  "I'm  in  earnest.  I'm  going  to  have 
the  matter  settled  up  here  and  now." 

I  looked  at  his  working  face  and  saw  that  he 
was  indeed  serious. 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  I  exclaimed.  "How  can  you 
settle  it?  ^The  woman  always  settles  this  kind  of 
thing." 

"It's  no  good  your  shuffling.  You  know  she 
can't  settle  it,"  he  snarled.  "You  won't  let  her. 
You  keep  diverting  her  attention  from  it." 

"From  3*ou,  you  mean,"  said  I. 

"Yes,  from  me.  You're  always  trying  to  set  her 
against  me,  And  it  isn't  as  though  you  meant 
anything  yourself.  .You  don't,  You're  just  play- 


WALSH  INTERVENES  301 

ing  the  dog  in  the  manger.  You'd  never  marry 
her,"  he  said. 

"Would  you?"  said  I. 

"Yes,  I  would — I  will,"  he  cried. 

"Poor  girl,"  said  I. 

He  stormed  and  cursed  at  me  m  a  growling  roar. 

"Don't  make  so  much  noise,  you'll  wake  my  ten- 
ants," I  said. 

He  made  more  noise. 

I  waited  till  he  had  run  out  of  breath.  It  gave 
me  more  time  to  think.  Then  I  said.  "No;  you 
shan't  marry  her — not  if  I  can  stop  it.  You're  not 
fit  to  come  near  a  decent  girl,  much  less  marry  her. 
I'll  stop  it  if  I  can;  and  I  think  I  can." 

"You  think  you  can,  do  you?  You  infernal 
prig!"  he  cried.  "Well,  I'll  show  you  all  about 
that,  and  inside  of  a  month,  too." 

With  that  he  went  off  down  Carisbrooke  Street 
and  I  turned  off  to  my  house.  He  had  given  me 
plenty  to  think  about  and  I  was  uneasy.  I  did  not 
see  what  he  could  do ;  but  I  did  know  that  he  would 
stick  at  nothing  where  a  woman  was  concerned. 
rAt  the  same  time  I  was  a  good  deal  surprised  to 
learn  that  he  was  carrying  le  bon  motif  concealed 
about  his  person. 


302  ALICE  DEVINE, 

On  consideration,  I  did  not  believe  in  it ;  certainly 
he  would  not  marry  Alice,  he  had  no  intention  of 
marrying  her.  Well,  I  must  look  after  her  more 
carefully  than  ever  when  he  was  about. 

But  that  was  where  he  put  a  spoke  in  my  wheel. 
Three  mornings  later,  Herbert  Polkington  came  to 
see  me.  I  hadn't  seen  him  for  some  time;  not  since 
I  had  congratulated  him  on  having  been  saved  from 
marrying  Kitty  Maynard  by  Freddy  Gage.  He 
came  looking  his  most  portentous — more  like  a  fun- 
eral than  a  human  being — and  I  braced  myself. 

He  sat  down,  crossed  his  legs  and  looked  at  me 
in  what  he  believes  to  be  an  impressive  way.  It 
makes  him  look  like  an  excited  codfish;  then  he 
cleared  his  throat  and  said : 

"I've  come  to  see  you  about  a  serious  matter, 
Rupert — a  very  serious  matter  indeed." 

"You  generally  do,"  I  said,  without  any  show 
of  gratitude  at  all.  "What  is  it?  Fire  away  and 
try  to  put  it  plainly." 

Herbert  frowned.  "It's  about  Miss  Devine,"  he 
said.  "I  have  been  assured  that  you  propose  to 
contract  an  alliance  with  that  young  woman,  the 
niece  of  that  more  than  suspect  New  Zealander, 
Scruton." 


WALSH  INTERVENES  303 

"Well,  you've  been  assured  wrong,"  I  said. 
"But  suppose  I  did?  Miss  Devine  is  a  very;  nice 
girl — quite  charming." 

"I  wish  I  had  been  misinformed,"  said  Herbert 
gloomily,  shaking  his  large  head.  "But  my  in- 
formant  " 

"Who  is  your  informant?"  I  said  quickly. 

Herbert  hesitated,  then  he  said:  "Sir  Theobald 
Walsh." 

"The  biggest  blackguard  in  London.  You 
Liberals  do  keep  nice  company,"  I  said. 

"I  met  him  quite  by  accident,"  Herbert  half 
apologized. 

"We  all  know  all  about  those  accidents,"  I  said. 
"And  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  it  was  you  who 
first  took  me  to  gamble  at  Scruton's.  You  Lib- 
erals do  lead  lives !"  I  said. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  met*  him  at  one  of  your 
clubs — the  Palladium,"  said  Herbert,  his  round 
face  beginning  to  grow  purplish.  "And  in  a  case 
like  this,  I  would  as  soon  take  the  opinion  of  Sir 
Theobald  Walsh  as  anybody's.  His  intrigues  have 
made  him  an  expert,  and  he  is  convinced  that  you 
are  infatuated  with  this  girl — infatuated.  But  it 
won't  do,  Rupert.  With  your  name  and  money, 


304  ALICE  DEVINE 

you  can't  marry  a  girl  who  is  merely  a  decoy  in  a 
gambling-hell.  That's  what  Scruton's  house  is." 

"I  like  this,  from  you,"  I  said.  "It's  exactly 
what  you  wanted  to  do  yourself.  You  wanted  to 
marry  Kitty  Gage,  and  she  was  just  as  much  and 
just  as  little  a  decoy  as  Miss  Devine  is.  In  fact,  I 
think  that  Kitty  Gage  was  a  great  deal  more 
aware  of  the  part  she  was  playing  than  ever  Miss 
Devine  was." 

"Yes;  I  did  want  to  marry  Kitty  Maynard,  and 
I  have  learned  that  you  saved  me  from  the  mar- 
riage " 

"Saved  her,  my  good  chap — saved  her,"  I  inter- 
rupted in  a  kind  voice. 

" — by  helping  Freddy  Gage  to  carry  her  off  and 
marry  her,"  Herbert  went  on  without  heeding  the 
interruption.  "I  am  grateful  to  you  now,  though 
I  was  very  much  annoyed  at  the  time.  It  was  an 
unfortunate  fascination,  and  I  had  a  lucky  escape." 

"She  had,  at  any  rate,"  said  I,  keeping  up  the 
kind  voice. 

"I  could  not  let  you  fall  into  the  very  pit  out  of 
which  you  helped  me,  without  a  word  of  protest 
and  warning,"  Herbert  went  on.  "And  this  mar- 


WALSH  INTERVENES  305 

riage  wouldn't  do.  Walsh  is  very  shrewd,  and  we 
both  agreed  that  it  wouldn't  do." 

"I'm  devilishly  obliged  to  both  of  you  for  your 
interference,"  I  said.  "But  I've  never  dreamt  of 
marrying  Miss  Devine;  and  I'm  quite  sure  she's 
never  dreamt  of  marrying  me." 

"Oh,  hasn't  she?"  said  Herbert.  "It's  no  use 
telling  that  kind  of  thing  to  a  man  of  the  world  like 
me.  Of  course,  she's  had  your  thirty  thousand  a 
year  in  mind  all  the  time." 

I  stood  up  rather  suddenly. 

"You'd  better  go,  Herbert,"  I  said  quickly.  "I 
should  hate  to  kick  a  cousin  out  of  my  house." 

Herbert  rose  suddenly,  too,  and  he  went,  protest- 
ing that  that  was  not  the  way  to  receive  a  well-meant 
remonstrance.  But  he  went  quickly. 

I  was  really  angry.  Alice  was  the  last  girl  in  the 
world  to  think  about  my  thirty  thousand  a  year — 
the  very  last.  He  had  no  right,  moreover,  to  talk 
about  my  marrying  her.  We  were  not  at  all  on  that 
kind  of  footing.  We  were  just  good  friends,  and 
nothing  more. 

I  was  glad  that  Herbert  went  quickly;  on  second 
thoughts  I  should  have  certainly  kicked  him  out  of 


3o6  ALICE  DEVINE 

the  house.  At  any  rate,  I  had  checked  his  inter- 
fering and  I  thought  no  more  about  him.  I  had 
two  or  three  of  my  usual  talks  with  Alice,  in  the 
central  garden  or  at  her  uncle's  parties.  Then  for 
two  days  she  did  not  come  into  the  garden  once — at 
any  rate,  while  I  was  in  it.  I  began  to  wonder  what 
kept  her  away,  and  I  was  quite  surprised  to  find 
how  much  I  missed  her.  When  I  first  caught  sight 
of  her  at  her  uncle's  next  party,  my  heart  gave  quite 
a  funny  little  jump. 

But  something  had  gone  wrong.  She  did  not 
smile  when  I  shook  hands  with  her,  she  looked  at 
me  in  quite  a  different  way.  There  was  no  friendli- 
ness in  her  eyes.  She  only  said  "LYes"  and  "No"  to 
everything  I  said  to  her. 

Presently  I  left  her,  thinking  I  would  talk  to  her 
when  she  was  not  so  busy  with  her  uncle's  guests, 
and  went  to  the  card-table.  I  wondered  a  little  what 
had  upset  her.  Then  Walsh  came,  and  she  was  very 
different  with  him.  She  smiled  and  talked  to  him 
quite  cheerfully.  They  seemed  all  of  a  sudden  to 
have  become  quite  friends.  I  was  a  good  deal  an- 
noyed. An  hour  later,  when  Walsh  was  playing 
baccarat,  and  no  one  else  was  with  her,  I  went  to 


WALSH  INTERVENES  307 

her  and  tried  to  talk  to  her  again.  It  was  no  use. 
She  looked  at  me  with  no  expression  at  all  in  her 
face,  and  had  nothing  whatever  to  say  to  me. 

All  that  week  she  did  not  come  into  the  central 
garden — at  any  rate  while  I  was  there.  During 
Scruton's  next  party  I  left  her  alone  and  she  seemed 
more  friendly  than  ever  with  Walsh.  It  was  very 
annoying.  I  wondered  whether  it  was  that  he  had 
made  it  plain  that  his  intentions  were  on  the  square, 
and  she  was  consequently  trying  to  have  less  to  do 
with  me  to  please  him.  I  did  not  think  it  was  so, 
for  she  seemed  really  offended  with  me,  not  merely 
cold. 

At  the  party  after  that,  I  made  my  effort.  I 
tried  to  get  her  to  tell  me  what  I  had  done  to  offend 
her.  She  said  she  did  not  know  what  I  meant,  and 
pretended  I  had  no  reason  at  all  to  fancy  that  I  had 
offended  her.  Then  she  let  Walsh  talk  to  her  for 
more  than  an  hour  and  seemed  to  enjoy  it  thor- 
oughly. She  was  bright  and  cheerful  with  him  all 
the  time.  It  was  very  annoying. 

I  saw  that  some  of  the  other  men  noticed  her  new 
friendliness  with  Walsh,  and  I  saw  that  they  did  not 
like  it,  for  they  were  friends  of  hers.  Then  I  was 


308  ALICE  DEVINE 

helping  myself  to  a  drink  at  the  side-table — when  the 
piebald  duke  came  to  it  and  began  to  mix  a  brandy" 
and-soda. 

He  looked  at  me  in  a  rather  hesitating  way,  then 
he  said:  "I  say,  Garthoyle,  that  little  girl — Scru- 
ton's  niece — she's  a  friend  of  yours,  isn't  she?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  wondering  what  was  coming. 

He  paused  and  looked  at  the  cheerful  pair  on  the 
sofa,  then  he  said :  "That  hound  Walsh  seems  to  be 
getting  very  friendly  with  her.  Doesn't  it  want 
checking?  You  know  what  Walsh  is  with  women. 
And  she  seems  a  nice  child — simple.  She  has  no 
business  to  be  at  these  parties  at  all,  don't  you  know  ? 
Couldn't  you  play  a  little  less  and  keep  her  amused — 
keep  Walsh  away?" 

"I  might  try,"  I  said.  "Not  that  she  will  take  any 
harm  from  Walsh — she's  not  the  kind." 

"Yes,  yes;  of  course.  But  she's  very  young.  No 
use  taking  any  risks.  You  know  what  women  are — 
silly." 

"Well,  I'll  do  what  I  can,"  I  said.  "But  I  don't 
think  I  can  do  much  at  present.  Either  I've  offended 
Miss  Devine,  or  Walsh  has  been  telling  her  lies  about 
me." 


WALSH  INTERVENES  309 

He  looked  at  Walsh  not  at  all  as  if  he  liked  or 
admired  him. 

"I  should  think  it's  that  Walsh  has  been  lying," 
he  said. 

"Well,  anyhow,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  play  a 
waiting  game,"  I  said. 

"It  would  be  an  awfully  good  thing,  if  you  could 
find  a  reasonable  excuse  for  blacking  both  his  eyes 
and  keeping  him  at  home  for  a  while,"  said  the  duke 
almost  viciously. 

"He  wouldn't  give  me  the  chance.  He  knows  too 
much  about  me,"  I  said.  "If  a  middle-weight  ama- 
teur champion  wants  a  scrap,  he  has  to  find  a  perfect 
stranger  to  oblige  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  gave 
Walsh  a  fair  chance  a  few  nights  ago.  I  told  him 
several  unpleasant  things  about  himself.  But  he 
didn't  take  it." 

We  finished  our  drinks  and  went  back  to  the  table. 
I  was  a  good  deal  surprised  by  the  duke's  speaking 
to  me.  I  had  not  thought  that  he  could  keep  his 
attention  off  the  game  long  enough  to  notice  such  a 
thing  as  the  friendliness  between  Alice  and  Walsh. 
His  warning  made  the  matter  much  more  serious. 
A  duke  is  naturally  an  expert  in  women;  they  run 


3io  ALICE  DEVINE 

after  him  so.  He  must  be  thinking  that  things  were 
getting  pretty  dangerous.  I  knew  that  Walsh  was 
in  dead  earnest;  and  now  there  was  no  relying  on 
Alice's  dislike  of  him.  He  seemed  to  have  worn  it 
down.  It  was  very  annoying. 

If  only  I  could  find  out  how  I  had  offended  her, 
and  set  that  right,  it  would  be  a  different  matter; 
for,  if  she  and  I  were  friends  again  I  thought  I 
could  queer  Walsh's  game.  But  I  could  not  think 
what  on  earth  I  had  done,  or  what  she  had  been  told 
I  had  done,  though  I  thought  of  every  possible 
thing. 

Then  Walsh  himself  gave  me  the  hint.  At  Scru- 
ton's  next  party  he  was  sitting  by  Alice  talking  to 
her  when  I  came  in. 

"Ah,  the  gay  abductor!"  he  said  in  his  sneering 
way. 

Then  I  tumbled  to  it.  He  was  friendly  enough 
with  Herbert  to  learn  from  him  how  I  had  helped 
Gage  carry  off  Kitty  Maynard.  I  might  take  it  as 
pretty  certain  that  Herbert  had  also  told  him  that  I 
had  said  that  I  never  dreamed  of  marrying  Alice. 
Walsh  had  told  Alice  this  with  embellishments.  He 
had  made  it  seem  absolutely  offensive.  No  wonder 


WALSH  INTERVENES  311 

she  was  angry  with  me.  I  could  have  wrung  his 
neck  cheerfully. 

When  I  came  to  consider  the  matter  I  found  my- 
self no  better  off  now  that  I  had  guessed  why  she 
was  furious  with  me  than  I  was  before.  I  could  not 
go  to  her  and  say:  "Look  here;  you've  been  told 
that  I've  been  saying  that  I  should  never  dream  of 
marrying  you.  I  didn't  say  it  the  way  you  think  I 
did." 

It  was  absurd.    I  did  want  to  wring  Walsh's  neck. 

Well,  I  could  only  sit  tight  and  keep  my  temper. 
I  did.  I  took  Alice's  snubbings  like  a  lamb,  a  cheer- 
ful lamb.  But  once  or  twice  when  Walsh  chipped 
in,  I  was  pleased  to  get  the  chance  of  showing  that 
the  lambness  was  only  skin-deep.  Certainly  I  gave 
him  every  excuse  to  punch  my  head.  I  only  wished 
he  would.  But  to  Alice  I  tried  to  make  it  plain  that 
whatever  she  might  say,  I  was  still  her  friend.  Yet 
it  was  hard  work  to  see  her  playing  with  fire,  and 
keep  quiet.  If  I  had  not  been  so  tied  up,  if  I  could 
have  let  myself  go,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  marry 
her,  and  ask  her  to  marry  me,  I  thought  I  could  get 
into  a  position  to  set  things  right.  But  I  could  not. 
The  ghost  trick  stuck  in  my  mind. 


3i2  ALICE  DEVINE 

All  the  while  she  went  on  growing  friendlier  and 
friendlier  with  Walsh.  I  found  that  she  was  even 
letting  him  help  her  take  her  waifs  into  the  country 
for  afternoon  outings.  He  spoke  to  her  about  it 
before  me  just  to  annoy  me.  He  took  them  in  his 
motor-car,  just  as  I  had  taken  the  anarchists;  and 
she  went  with  them  to  look  after  them.  I  must  say 
that  that  did  annoy  me  worse  than  anything.  I 
could  only  hope  that  her  old  distrust  of  him  was 
still  alive  under  this  new  friendliness;  and  I  had 
an  idea  that  she  showed  herself  far  more  friendly; 
with  him  when  I  was  present,  hearing  their  talk, 
than  when  I  was  not.  He  tried  to  be  quite  insuffer- 
able with  his  triumphant  airs;  they  did  not  get  at 
me  much.  I  took  it  that  he  was  only  putting  them 
on  just  to  annoy  me. 

Naturally  I  was  delighted  to  see,  one  evening  at 
Scruton's,  that  Walsh  had  received  a  set-back.  Alice 
had  plainly  quarreled  with  him;  she  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him.  He  kept  leaving  the  bac- 
carat-table and  coming  to  her  and  talking.  But 
from  his  face  I  gathered  that  she  was  snubbing  him 
worse  than  she  snubbed  me.  He  was  a  blackish 
purple.  At  the  same  time  she  showed  herself  no 
friendlier  with  me;  she  did  not  use  me  to  annoy 


WALSH  INTERVENES  313 

Walsh.  Then  I  thought  that  she  looked  rather  un- 
happy ;  and  it  spoilt  my  pleasure  in  her  quarrel  with 
Walsh.  It  looked  as  if  she  were  feeling  unhappy 
because  she  had  quarreled  with  him. 

I  was  taking  her  coldness  in  my  usual  cheerful 
way ;  and  I  could  not  help  saying :  "I'm  glad  to  see 
you've  found  Walsh  out.  I  thought  he  was  pretty 
sure  to  give  himself  away.  He's  not  the  sort  cf 
man  that  it's  safe  for  a  woman  to  be  decent  to  at 
all." 

She  was  sitting  stiffly  enough;  but  she  drew  her- 
self up  even  more  stiffly;  and  her  pretty  eyes  spar- 
kled, and  she  said :  "I — I  don't  see  anything  what- 
ever to  choose  between  Sir  Theobald  Walsh  and 
Lord  Garthoyle." 

"Oh,  but  there  is — lots,"  I  said. 

She  said  a  little  breathlessly:  "Oh,  you  have — 
you  have  a — a " 

"Cheek  ?  Yes ;  I  have.  I  was  born  with  it,"  said 
I,  stroking  it.  "But  all  the  same  it's  true.  And 
honestly,  where  Walsh  is  concerned,  you  have  to  be 
careful — you  do  really.  Yo,u  can  tell  him  I  said  so, 
too." 

She  looked  at  me  as  though  she  did  not  know 
quite  what  unpleasant  thing  to  say — as  if  I  was  too 


3H  ALICE  DEVINE 

aggravating  for  words.  She  opened  her  lips;  then 
she  shut  them  and  said  nothing. 

Of  course,  it  was  cheek;  but  I  was  glad  to  have 
given  her  the  warning.  I  suppose,  however,  that 
that  was  why  she  let  Walsh  make  peace  with  her, 
and  seemed  more  friendly  with  him  than  ever.  It 
really  looked  as  if  he  would  win  out  and  marry  her. 
It  would  be  a  great  pity;  she  was  far  too  delicate 
and  sensitive  to  be  the  wife  of  that  scowling  scoun- 
drel. She  might  be  happy  with  him  for  a  couple  of 
months  at  the  outside;  then  it  would  be  the  usual 
neglect  and  other  women. 

It  was  very  annoying.  It  worried  me  and  made 
me  restless.  Things  grew  so  tasteless — polo,  and 
motoring,  and  even  being  the  complete  house-agent, 
and  running  Garthoyle  Gardens.  Baccarat  was 
rather  better;  though  I  had  to  be  careful  to  play  sit- 
ting with  my  back  to  Alice,  that  I  might  not  see  her 
and  Walsh  together.  I  felt  so  helpless  to  prevent 
her  making  a  mess  of  things.  Yet  somehow  I  could 
not  get  it  out  of  my  head  that  she  did  not  really  care 
for  Walsh,  that  she  was  just  friendly  with  him  and 
no  more.  I  wondered  how  he  would  take  it  when 
he  found  out  that  it  was  so.  I  was  afraid  he  might 
make  himself  violently  unpleasant.  I  could  only 


WALSH  INTERVENES  315 

hope  that  I  might  be  at  hand  when  he  did;  for  I 
did  not  think  that,  even  if  she  went  to  Scruton,  he 
would  be  of  much  help  to  her.  The  whole  business 
was  very  annoying. 

Then,  one  evening  I  noticed  that  they  had  had 
another  quarrel;  for  Walsh  came  scowling  to  the 
baccarat-table,  and  did  not  go  near  her  for  an  hour ; 
then  they  seemed  to  make  it  up. 

The  next  afternoon  I  went  down  to  Wembly 
Park  for  some  polo  practise.  As  I  motored  into  the 
Gardens,  on  my  return,  I  saw  a  small  and  rather 
ragged  boy  hurrying  along  the  pavement,  and  I 
recognized  Alice's  protege,  Robespierre  Briggs,  the 
anarchist.  I  stopped  the  car  and  called  to  him. 

He  came  running  up  and  cried :  "Mr.  Garth,  it's 
Miss  Alice!  She's  bin  carried  awye!" 

"Carried  away!    What  do  you  mean?"  I  said. 

"It's  Sir  Theerbald  Walsh — 'im  what's  a  baronit. 
'E  an'  Miss  Alice  took  us  to  Chipperfield  Common 
in  'is  moter,  the  syme  as  you  did.  An'  we  got  outer 
the  car,  an'  'e  shoves  a  'andful  of  money — silver — 
inter  my  'and,  an'  catches  'old  of  Miss  Alice  an' 
pulls  'er  back  inter  the  car.  An'  she  tells  'im  ter  let 
'er  go ;  and  'e  says  'e  ain't  never  goin'  ter  let  'er  go. 
An'  she  calls  out  ter  me :  'Go  to  Mr.  Scruton,  Gar- 


316  ALICE  DEVINE 

thoyle  Gardens,  Robbie,  an'  tell  'im!'  An*  the  car 
goes  orf  an'  leaves  us  there.  An'  I  gives  Cherlie 
most  of  the  money,  an'  I  run  most  of  the  wye  to 
King's  Langley  stytion,  an'  a  tryne  to  London  come 
in,  an'  I  come  by  it  to  Euston,  an'  got  'ere  in  a  bus ; 
an'  there  ain't  a  copper  abart,  an'  I  can't  find  which 
is  Mr.  Scruton's  'ouse!" 

He  was  white  and  breathless  and  ready  to  cry.  I 
bade  him  jump  into  the  car,  and  ran  round  the  tri- 
angle to  Scruton's. 

We  were  taken  straight  to  him  in  his  smoking- 
room,  and  found  him  sleeping  peacefully  in  an  easy 
chair. 

Our  entrance  woke  him,  and  I  said:  "I've  nice 
news  for  you,  Scruton.  That  blackguard  Walsh 
has  kidnaped  Miss  Devine." 

"Kidnaped?  What  the  deuce  are  you  talking 
about?"  he  cried,  waking  up  thoroughly. 

I  told  him  Robespierre's  story  of  the  abduction. 

"I  wouldn't  have  had  this  happen  for  fifty  thou- 
sand pounds!"  he  cried.  "Alice's  all  the  kith  and 
kin  I've  got  in  the  world!  How  are  we  to  find 
them?  How  are  we  to  get  at  the  swine?" 

He  was  growing  if  anything  blacker  than  Walsh 
was  after  I  had  said  a  few  kind  words  to  him. 


WALSH  INTERVENES  317 

"Well,  there's  just  a  chance,"  I  said.  "Walsh  has 
a  house  near  Pinner,  and  I  happen  to  know  that  he 
uses  it  in  his  love-affairs.  Now,  Pinner's  on  the 
way  between  Chipperfield  and  London.  It's  any 
odds  that  he's  taken  her  there.  He  doesn't  know 
that  I  know  anything  about  it.  We  might  try  it  on 
the  chance.  My  car's  at  the  door." 

"By  jove !  It's  a  chance !  Quite  a  good  chance !" 
cried  Scruton. 

He  ran  across  the  room  to  a  bureau,  opened  a 
drawer,  took  a  revolver  from  it,  and  thrust  it  into 
his  hip  pocket,  saying:  "I  always  feel  more  com- 
fortable carrying  a  gun  when  there's  trouble  about." 

I  gathered  that  he  had  not  spent  all  his  life  in 
quiet  New  Zealand.  We  hurried  out  to  the  car;  I 
gave  Robespierre  a  tenner  for  his  promptitude;  and 
Scruton  and  I  jumped  into  the  tonneau.  When  I 
want  the  best  got  out  of  it,  I  leave  it  to  Gaston;  I 
do  not  drive  it  myself  then.  I  told  him  to  get  to 
Pinner  as  fast  as  he  could ;  and  he  set  her  going  as 
we  settled  back  in  our  seats. 

Then  Scruton  turned  to  me  and  said:  "What 
does  Walsh  mean  by  it?  What  the  devil  does  he 
mean  by  it?" 

"He  sticks  at  nothing  where  a  woman  is  con- 


3i8  ALICE  DEVINE 

cerned.  I  should  have  thought  you  knew  that,"  I 
said. 

"Does  he  think  that  I'm  the  kind  of  man  to  have 
my  womankind  kidnaped?  If  any  harm  has  come 
to  Alice,  I'll  throttle  him !" 

"If  he's  taken  her  to  The  Cedars,  we  shall  be  in 
plenty  of  time.  She  won't  have  come  to  any  harm," 
I  said.  "But  Walsh  is  very  sidey;  he  thinks  that, 
where  a  commoner  like  you  is  concerned,  a  British 
baronet  can  do  anything  he  chooses." 

I  thought  it  as  well  to  get  Scruton  furious.  Be- 
sides, it  was  true. 

"Oh,  he  does,  does  he?  Well,  I'll  teach  him  to 
play  a  scoundrelly  trick  on  a  young  girl !  I'll  wring 
his  neck  for  him  all  right — all  right!"  he  roared. 
"And  the  duke  did  give  me  a  hint  to  keep  my  eye 
on  him.  But  I  didn't  give  heed  to  it,  for  I  knew 
that  Alice  was  all  right.  I  never  dreamed  that 
Walsh  would  play  this  game  on  me." 

"Walsh  is  just  the  man  to  do  it,  you  see.  He 
doesn't  give  a  damn  for  a  man  like  you,"  I  said. 

"I'll  teach  him  all  about  that,"  roared  Scruton. 

I  saw  no  point  in  telling  him  that  Walsh  had  told 
me  that  he  wanted  to  marry  Alice,  and  was  not  up 


WALSH  INTERVENES  319 

to  serious  mischief,  but  merely  trying  to  force  her 
to  marry  him  by  compromising  her  in  exactly  the 
same  way  as  Freddy  Gage  had  forced  Kitty  May- 
nard  to  marry  him  to  save  her  from  Herbert.  In 
fact,  Walsh  had  cribbed  the  idea  from  me;  and  the 
one  abduction  had  led  to  the  other. 

At  the  same  time  I  was  infernally  uneasy.  There 
was  no  trusting  Walsh;  and  if  we  did  not  find  Alice 
at  The  Cedars,  I  should  be  frightened  out  of  my 
life. 

Scruton  was  properly  furious.  All  the  way  he 
was  either  growling  or  raging  at  Walsh ;  and  I  did 
hope  to  goodness  he  would  get  the  chance  of  dealing 
with  the  hound. 

Gaston  made  short  work  of  the  road  to  Pinner. 
But  oh,  it  was  a  devilishly  uncomfortable  journey! 
I  was  so  frightened  lest  Walsh  should  have  taken 
Alice  somewhere  else. 

I  did  not  let  Gaston  drive  the  car  to  the  front 
gates  of  The  Cedars.  I  told  him  to  turn  down  a 
side  lane  half  a  mile  on  the  London  side  of  it;  and 
we  came  to  a  gate  in  a  little  wood.  I  knew  of  this 
entrance  from  Carrie  Delamere.  I  had  taken  her 
out  in  my  car  one  afternoon ;  and  she  had  suggested 


320  ALICE  DEVINE 

that  we  should  have  a  picnic  tea  in  the  little  wood. 
After  tea  she  had  taken  me  along  a  path  through  it 
which  had  brought  us  to  the  garden  of  The  Cedars. 

Scruton  and  I  hurried  through  the  wood  to  the 
gate  of  the  garden.  It  was  locked;  but  we  lifted  it 
off  its  hinges  and  slipped  into  the  covert  of  a  shrub- 
bery which  ran  right  up  to  the  house.  I  was  pleased 
to  see  that  several  of  the  windows  were  open,  and  a 
glass  door  leading  from  the  house  to  the  garden. 

"Somebody's  living  here,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Scruton. 

We  came  under  covert  to  within  ten  yards  of  the 
house;  then  we  heard  a  murmur  of  voices  from  an 
open  window  in  the  left  side  of  it  on  the  ground 
floor.  As  we  worked  our  way  noiselessly  toward 
it,  I  heard  the  tones  of  Alice's  voice;  and  my  heart 
gave  a  little  jump  of  relief. 

When  we  faced  the  window,  there  was  Walsh 
sitting  with  his  back  to  us,  right  in  the  window-seat, 
with  one  elbow  sticking  out  over  the  sill.  Beyond 
him,  sitting  at  a  little  table  with  tea  on  it,  was  Alice. 
I  saw  that  her  face  was  pale;  and  I  saw  that  she  was 
looking  at  Walsh  with  an  extraordinary  expression 
of  contempt  and  dislike. 

"For  the  hundredth  time,  I  tell  you  there's  no 


WALSH  INTERVENES  321 

way  out  of  it — you've  got  to  marry  me,"  said  Walsh, 
in  a  lazy  aggravating  drawl. 

"If  you  were  the  only  man  in  the  world  I  wouldn't 
— after  to-day,"  said  Alice. 

She  spoke  quite  calmly,  without  any  temper,  but 
as  if  she  were  thoroughly  in  earnest,  and  her  voice 
was  as  full  of  dislike  and  contempt  as  her  eyes. 

"After  to-day — after  this  visit  you're  paying  me, 
I'm  the  only  man  left  in  the  world  who  will  marry 
you,"  said  Walsh  in  a  taunting  tone. 

"That  makes  no  difference — you  detestable  cad !" 
said  Alice  slowly. 

"What  a  way  to  speak  of  your  future  husband! 
On  your  wedding-day,  too,"  said  Walsh,  and  he 
laughed  quietly,  as  if  he  were  enjoying  himself 
thoroughly.  "And  do  bear  in  mind  that  it's  only 
out  of  natural  nobility  of  nature  that  I'm  marrying 
you  at  all.  It  isn't  really  necessary." 

He  laughed  again — a  laugh  that  made  the  very 
toes  of  my  boots  itch  to  kick  him. 

While  he  laughed,  in  three  noiseless  strides  Scru- 
ton  crossed  the  turf,  leaned  in  at  the  window,  and 
his  arm  shot  round  Walsh's  neck,  scragging  him. 
Then  with  furious  jerks  and  tugs  he  began  to  drag 
him  out  of  the  window. 


ALICE  DEVINE 


"Mind  his  neck!"  I  cried. 

"Damn  his  neck!  Come  put,  will  you?"  cried 
Scruton. 

And  Walsh  came  out,  all  waving  arms  and  legs, 
grunting,  black  in  the  face  with  fury  and  being 
throttled. 

"Get  Alice  away  !"  said  Scruton. 

She  was  already  at  the  window;  I  caught  hold  of 
her,  lifted  her  through  it  and  carried  her  into  the 
shrubbery.  It  seemed  the  natural  thing  to  do. 

"Put  me  down  !  Put  me  down  !"  she  cried,  trying 
to  twist  out  of  my  arms. 

"Very  good,"  I  said.    "But  we've  got  to  hurry." 

I  put  her  down,  but  kept  an  arm  round  her  as  I 
hurried  her  along.  She  tried,  not  very  violently,  to 
push  it  away.  But  it  seemed  all  right  where  it  was  — 
to  me  —  and  I  kept  it  there.  She  might  have  tripped 
and  fallen  on  the  rough  ground  of  the  shrubbery. 

"Oh,  I  was  so  frightened.  I  am  so  glad  you 
came,"  she  said  in  a  shaky  voice. 

"And  I  was  frightened,  too  —  awfully  frightened. 
I  know  that  blackguard  Walsh.  It  was  the  luckiest 
thing  in  the  world  that  I  lighted  on  Robespierre." 

"Oh,  it  was  lucky  !"  she  cried. 


WALSH  INTERVENES  323 

We  were  nearly  at  the  bottom  of  the  shrubbery 
when  Walsh  began  to  shout.  I  pushed  through  it, 
out  into  the  open  and  looked  back.  He  and  Scruton 
were  going  at  it  hammer  and  tongs  on  the  lawn  in 
front  of  the  house.  I  had  no  fear  for  Scruton;  he 
was  the  heavier  man  and  as  hard  as  nails,  while 
Walsh  was  soft  and  on  the  puffy  side.  He  was 
howling  for  servants.  While  I  looked  he  went 
down  heavily,  and  he  did  not  get  up.  I  hurried 
lAlice  out  of  the  garden. 

In  the  wood  I  loosed  her — not  that  I  wanted  to — 
and  we  went  through  it  more  slowly. 

"Oh,  I  was  glad  to  see  you !"  she  said.  "How  did 
you  come  to  learn  about  it?  Where  did  you  see 
Robespierre  ?" 

"I  found  him  wandering  about  the  Gardens,  look- 
ing for  your  uncle's  house,  and  he  told  me  that 
Walsh  had  carried  you  off." 

"I  knew  he'd  find  my  uncle,  I  was  sure  of  it,"  said 
Alice.  "But  I  didn't  see  how  my  uncle  could  find 
me,  how  he  would  know  where  that  horrible  brute 
had  taken  me.  I  thought  it  might  be  days  and  days 
before  he  found  out,  and  oh!  I  was  frightened!" 

"Well,  I  knew  of  that  lair  of  Walsh's,  and  we 


324  ALICE  DEVINE 

drew  it  on  the  chance.  It  was  lucky  that  he  brought 
you  here.  If  he  hadn't  it  might  have  been  days  and 
days  before  we  found  you." 

She  shivered  and  we  hurried  a  few  steps  without 
speaking. 

Then  she  said:  "It  does  seem  strange  that  it 
should  always  be  you  who  helps  me  when  I'm  in  a 
difficulty."  And  she  looked  at  me  with  thankful 
eyes. 

"No  one  would  think  it  if  they  saw  the  brutal 
way  you  treat  me,"  I  said  quickly. 

"Oh,  that,"  she  said,  blushing.  "Well,  you — you 
deserved  it." 

"No,  I  didn't.  I  did  nothing  to  make  you  jump 
on  me  for  weeks.  And  you  wouldn't  tell  me  what 
I'd  done  to  offend  you.  What  was  it  ?"  I  said,  jump- 
ing at  the  chance  of  clearing  things  up. 

She  shook  her  head  and  blushed  again.  "I'm  not 
going  to  tell  you,"  she  said. 

"I  know  quite  well  that  Walsh  told  you  some  lie 
about  me,"  I  said. 

"Perhaps  it  was,"  she  said. 

"Of  course  it  was.  And  I  don't  think  it  was  at 
all  friendly  to  believe  it ;  at  least  you  ought  to  have 
given  me  a  chance  of  clearing  it  up." 


WALSH  INTERVENES  325 

"Perhaps  I  ought.  But  it  seerned  to  be  the  truth. 
He  wasn't  the  only  one  to  say  it,"  said  she. 

It  had  been  that  ass  Herbert. 

"I  don't  believe  that  you  believed  it — really.  You 
just  made  it  an  excuse  to  jump  on  me,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  no — no !  I  didn't  want  to  be  unfriendly.  I 
did  believe  it  truly!"  she  cried. 

"Well,  it  was  very  wrong  of  you,"  I  said.  "But 
we're  friends  again  now  ?" 

"Yes,  yes;  we're  friends  again  now,"  she  said. 
And  I  thought  that  her  eyes  shone  so  brightly  be- 
cause there  were  tears  in  them. 

Scruton  came  running  round  the  corner  of  the 
path  behind  us,  carrying  a  broom-handle. 

"Hurry  up!  I've  drawn  a  whole  swarm!"  he 
cried. 

I  slipped  my  arm  round  Alice  again  and  we  ran 
through  the  wood.  As  we  reached  the  car  we  heard 
the  clumping  of  thick  boots  and  grunting  voices 
behind  us.  We  scrambled  into  the  tonneau  and  I 
told  Gaston  to  let  the  car  go. 

"I  laid  him  out  all  right — all  right !"  said  Scruton 
cheerfully.  "And  then  I  lammed  him  with  this 
broom-handle.  It  was  all  I  could  find.  I  wasn't 
half  through  with  him  when  a  gardener  and  chauf- 


326  ALICE  DEVINE 

feur — husky  fellows — came  bustling  round  the 
house,  and  as  they  came  they  shouted  to  some  one 
else.  So  I  gave  Walsh  three  last  souvenirs,  and 
faded." 

"Fm  so  glad  you  thrashed  him,"  said  Alice. 

"Yes,  missie ;  but  for  the  future  you  cut  out  Tno- 
toring  with  British  baronets,"  said  Scruton. 

"Yes;  stick  to  peers — they're  far  safer,"  said  I. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE 

I  DINED  at  Scruton's  that  night,  and  a  very 
pleasant  dinner  it  was,  since  he  had  to  go  off  to 
a  bridge-party  at  ten  o'clock  and  leave  me  and  Alice 
together.  I  tried  very  hard  to  learn  from  her  why 
she  had  insisted  on  quarreling  with  me,  so  severely 
and  for  so  long,  but  though  I  teased  her  about  it 
most  of  the  evening,  I  could  not  get  her  to  tell  me. 
I  was  pretty  sure,  in  fact  I  was  quite  sure,  that  she 
had  been  set  against  me  by  some  idle  lie  of  Walsh's, 
probably  backed  up  by  that  idiot  Herbert. 

I  was  a  long  time  getting  to  sleep  that  night.  The 
whole  of  this  Walsh  business — the  way  his  making 
love  to  Alice  had  worried  me,  the  fright  I  had  had 
when  I  learned  that  he  had  carried  her  off  in  his 
motor-car,  that  anxious  journey  to  Pinner,  and  the 
enormous  relief  I  had  felt  when  I  heard  her  voice 
through  the  open  window — had  opened  my  eyes  as 
wide  as  they  could  be  opened.  It  was  quite  plain  to 

327 


328  ALICE  DEVINE 

me  that  my  friendship  for  her  was  a  good  deal  more 
than  friendship. 

Of  course,  it  would  be  delightful  to  marry  her; 
she  was  charming,  and  thoroughly  nice,  and  as  pretty 
as  a  girl  could  be.  I,  at  any  rate,  could  not  remem- 
ber ever  having  known  or  seen  half  so  pretty  a  girl. 
If  she  would  marry  me  (and  I  thought  she  would  in 
time,  if  I  were  patient),  she  would  make  a  perfectly 
ripping  wife.  But  that  confounded  ghost  trick  stuck 
in  my  throat.  There  was  no  getting  over  the  fact 
that  she  had  helped  Scruton  to  trick  my  Uncle  Alger- 
non, and  to  try  to  trick  me  out  of  a  quarter's  rent. 

That  trick  was  like  nothing  else  in  her ;  it  did  not 
fit  in  with  the  rest  of  her  at  all.  In  fact,  there  was 
no  explaining  it  by  any  other  single  thing  I  had  ever 
seen  in  her.  It  did  seem  likely  that  there  was  some 
simple  explanation  of  it,  but,  worry  as  I  might,  I 
could  not  hit  on  it.  I  might,  of  course,  have  gone 
straight  to  her  and  asked  her  about  it.  But  I  did 
not  like  to.  In  fact,  I  dare  not.  There  was  that 
awkward  fact  that  when  I  had  caught  her  playing 
the  ghost,  I  had  kissed  her.  I  remembered  that  kiss 
quite  well,  but  I  also  remembered  her  fury  at  it,  and 
the  slap,  with  all  the  righteous  indignation  behind 
it,  which  she  gave  me.  I  was  quite  sure  that  she 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE      329 

had  taken  that  kiss  very  seriously  indeed;  probably 
she  had  been  awfully  cut  up  about  it.  Very  likely 
she  detested  the  unknown  man  who  had  kissed  her. 
I  knew  that  she  never  dreamt  that  I  was  he.  If  she 
did  learn  that  I  was  the  offender,  judging  from  the 
way  she  had  treated  me  over  that  silly  lie  of  Walsh's, 
she  would  probably  have  no  more  to  do  with  me. 

Of  course,  it  was  very  unreasonable  to  take  a 
snatched  kiss  seriously.  It  might  happen  to  any- 
body. But  Alice  was  like  that;  of  course,  women 
never  are  reasonable  about  that  kind  of  thing. 

It  was  a  very  difficult  business,  and  for  the  next 
few  days  I  worried  and  worried  over  it.  I  could 
not  make  up  my  mind  what  to  do.  Then  the  Walsh 
affair,  too,  had  changed  Alice.  She  had  grown 
rather  shy  with  me.  It  was  all  right  after  we  had 
been  talking  a  while,  but  she  was  shy  when  she  met 
me,  and  if  I  came  on  her  suddenly,  she  blushed — • 
faintly,  but  quite  distinctly.  It  always  made  me 
want  to  pick  her  up  and  kiss  her,  and  tell  her  that 
she  was  the  only  girl  in  the  world  for  me.  After 
a  while  I  could  not  think  of  that  kiss  I  gave  her, 
when  I  caught  her  playing  the  ghost,  without  want- 
ing to  kiss  her  again.  At  least,  it  was  more  than 
wanting — it  was  a  kind  of  burning  to  do  it 


330  ALICE  DEVINE 

I  kept  on  getting  more  and  more  worried,  and  I 
quite  realized  that  I  was  in  the  mess  of  a  lifetime. 

At  last  I  made  up  my  mind  that  the  only  thing 
to  do  was  to  bolt,  and  be  quick  about  it.  A  course 
of  foreign  travel  was  the  only  chance  of  curing  my- 
self, and  the  sooner  I  took  it,  the  less  painful  I 
should  find  it.  I  saw  plainly  that  it  was  not  a  case 
for  big  game  shooting.  If  I  got  away  to  the  loneli- 
ness of  the  woods  and  hills,  I  should  only  be  worse. 
I  should  want  Alice  worse  than  ever.  A  good  dose 
of  racketing  about  the  capitals  of  Europe  was  what 
I  wanted. 

I  saw  this  quite  clearly,  but  then  I  could  not  drag 
myself  away  from  London.  I  could  not  bear  the 
idea  of  leaving  Alice.  I  had  to  struggle  like  any- 
thing to  get  myself  to  go,  but  at  last  I  went  off  to 
Paris.  I  did  not  tell  Alice  I  was  going ;  I  dared  not. 
She  might  look  hurt  at  the  thought  of  it,  and  then, 
ghost  trick  or  no  ghost  trick,  I  should  pick  her  up 
and  kiss  her.  I  knew  I  should. 

I  put  in  three  days  at  Paris,  with  lots  of  wild 
hilarity  in  them.  Then  the  whole  place  seemed  to 
turn  sour,  and  after  lunch  on  the  fourth  day,  I  told 
Mowart  to  pack  my  things  and  take  ticket  for  Ber- 
lin, a  much  more  amusing  town,  when  you  know  the 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   331 

ropes,  than  people  will  admit.  I  could  only  stand  it 
for  a  day.  I  was  restless,  and  bored  beyond  relief. 
At  six  in  the  evening  I  told  Mowart  to  pack  and 
came  straight  back  to  Garthoyle  Gardens. 

I  was  no  sooner  in  my  own  house,  within  three 
hundred  yards  of  Alice,  than  the  restlessness  left 
me.  I  wanted  to  see  her  as  soon  as  possible,  of 
course,  but  I  could  wait  an  hour  or  two  without  an 
effort. 

I  dined  at  home,  with  a  much  better  appetite  than 
I  had  had  in  Paris  or  Berlin;  and  then  I  went  out 
into  the  central  garden.  It  was  late,  for  I  had  dined 
late — it  must  have  been  nearly  half  past  ten.  There 
was  not  much  chance  of  finding  Alice,  for  she  did 
not  often  come  into  the  garden  at  night.  But  there 
was  a  chance,  and  I  strolled  all  round  it,  looking  for 
her.  I  did *not  find  her.  I  had  made  a  circuit  of  the 
garden  and  come  back  to  the  gate  opposite  my  own 
house;  I  turned  and  went  up  the  broad  path  which 
runs  to  the  middle  of  the  garden. 

I  was  about  fifty  yards  from  the  ring  of  shrub- 
beries which  forms  the  center  of  the  garden,  when 
a  figure  burst  out  of  one  of  the  lawns  in  the  ring 
and  came  running  toward  me.  I  saw  that  it  was 
a  woman;  then  I  saw  that  it  was  a  girl,  and  then  I 


332  ALICE  DEVINE 

saw  that  it  was  Alice  herself.  When  she  was  ten 
yards  from  me  I  saw  that  she  was  as  white  as  a  sheet 
and  was  panting  and  sobbing.  She  almost  ran  into 
me  before  she  saw  me,  and  then,  pulling  up,  fairly 
tumbled  into  my  arms. 

"Whatever  is  it  ?"  I  cried,  holding  her  up. 

"Oh,  I've  been  so  frightened !"  she  gasped. 

She  was  as  cold  as  ice,  and  trembling  as  I  have 
never  seen  any  one  tremble  before.  I  half  carried, 
half  dragged  her  to  the  nearest  bench,  and  sat  down 
on  it  with  her  in  my  arms. 

"Gently,  gently — you're  quite  safe  now — you 
needn't  be  frightened  any  longer,"  I  said;  and  I 
kissed  her. 

It  was  rather  taking  advantage  of  her  terror,  but 
I  was  startled  and  did  not  think  of  that;  and  it 
seemed  the  natural  thing  to  do — just  as  one  would 
kiss  a  frightened  child.  She  did  not  seem  to  mind 
it — and  I  kissed  her  again. 

She  sobbed  and  choked  and  panted  for  two  or 
three  minutes,  then  she  recovered  enough  to  say : 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you  came.  I  should  never  have 
got  as  far  as  the  gate — never !" 

She  looked  up  the  path  with  terrified*  eyes  -and 
shrank  closer  to  me. 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   333 

"Who,  was  it?  Who  frightened  you?  Was  it 
that  brute  Walsh?"  I  said,  beginning  to  get  angry; 
and  I  half  rose  with  the  idea  of  going  and  smashing 
him. 

"No— no — it  was  no  one.  It  was  the  straw  hat," 
she  panted. 

"The  what?"  I  cried. 

"It  was  the  straw  hat,"  she  said. 

"What  straw  hat?  Tell  me  all  about  it,  please," 
said  I;  and  I  kissed  her  again,  to  give  her  confi- 
dence. 

She  pulled  herself  together  with  an  effort  that 
shook  her ;  then  she  went  on  in  a  steadier  voice :  "I 
was  coming  toward  the  center  of  the  garden — and  I 
thought  I  saw  a  man — a  man  in  a  straw  hat — go  into 
the  lawn — the  lawn  in  which  Etienne  Bechut  was 
murdered.  He  was  very  indistinct,  and  it  was  odd — 
and  it  puzzled  me.  So  when  I  got  to  the  lawn  I 
went  half-way  through  the  entrance  and  peeped; 
and  I  saw  his  straw  hat  lying  on  the  lawn  just  where 
it  was  when  we  found  his  body.  And  I  knew  that 
his  body  was  lying  there,  too,  just  out  of  sight  round 
the  corner.  But  I  didn't  stop  to  look;  it  frightened 
me  so.  And  I  ran  and  ran;  and  the  farther  I  ran 
the  more  frightened  I  grew.  I  felt  as  if  he  were 


334  ALICE  DEVINE 

after  me.  And  I  couldn't  have  run  much  farther 
when  I  met  you ;  I  should  have  dropped." 

"Why,  you  poor  child!"  I  said;  and  I  kissed  her 
again.  "You  imagined  it  all.  You  frightened  your- 
self. There  wasn't  really  any  hat  there.  It  was 
fancy — pure  fancy — or  perhaps  it  was  the  light  fall- 
ing through  the  trees  in  a  white  patch  that  looked 
like  a  hat." 

"No;  there  was  no  white  patch.  There  were  no 
shadows  to  make  them.  The  moon  was  shining  full 
on  the  lawn,  and  the  hat  was  lying  full  in  the  moon- 
light," she  said. 

I  hesitated  .  .  .  she  was  so  sure  ...  I  did  not 
know  what  to  do.  Then  I  said :  "When  you've 
recovered  a  bit  more,  we'll  go  to  that  lawn  and  make 
sure." 

"No!  No !  I  won't  go  near  the  dreadful  place !" 
she  cried. 

"All  right,"  I  said.  "I'll  take  you  home ;  and  then 
I'll  come  back  and  look  into  it." 

"No,  no;  you  mustn't.  I  won't  have  it.  It's 
dreadfully  dangerous.  I'm  sure  it  is,"  she  cried,  and 
she  caught  hold  of  my  arm  with  both  hands,  and 
held  on  to  it  as  if  she  meant  to  keep  me  there. 

I  kissed  her  again;  and  then  suddenly  she  flushed, 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   335 

as  if  she  had  just  noticed  the  kisses  for  the  first  time, 
and  tried  to  slip  off  my  knee. 

I  held  her  tight  and  said :  "No ;  you're  more  com- 
fortable where  you  are;  and  you  feel  so  much  safer." 

I  drew  her  closer  to  me  and  kissed  her  again.  She 
was  quite  still. 

We  sat  on  that  bench  for  a  long  time — I  had  it 
taken  away  to  Garth  Royal  later;  and  it  is  in  the 
rose-garden  there,  under  a  stone  canopy.  We  did 
not  say  very  much,  because  there  did  not  seem  to  be 
anything  to  say.  It  seemed  to  be  quite  enough  to  be 
sitting  there  together.  At  last  she  said  that  she  must 
be  going,  or  the  house  would  be  locked  up,  and  she 
would  have  to  ring  up  a  servant  to  let  her  in. 

I  rose  very  unwillingly,  set  her  down  and  said: 
"Well,  if  you  must,  you  must.  As  we  go  by  it,  we'll 
just  take  a  look  at  that  lawn.  It  will  never  do  for 
you  to  be  afraid  to  come  into  this  garden  at  night, 
now." 

"Oh,  it  will  be  horrid!"  she  cried,  clutching  my 
arm.  "And  there  isn't  any  need — there  isn't  really. 
I  shan't  be  frightened  to-morrow  at  all." 

I  felt  her  quivering  a  little  with  a  fresh  terror. 

"You'd  better  come  along.  You'll  be  ever  so 
much  less  frightened  about  this,  if  you  actually  knew 


336  ALICE  DEVINE 

that  there's  no  hat  on  that  lawn  and  no  body  either," 
I  said  in  a  coaxing  tone. 

She  did  not  refuse  any  longer;  but  she  did  not 
come  at  all  readily;  and  when  we  came  near  the 
lawn,  her  feet  seemed  to  drag  rather  in  spite  of  her- 
self. As  we  went  into  the  narrow  entrance  I  held 
her  very  light  to  reassure  her. 

The  lawn  was  quite  bright  in  the  moonlight. 
There  was  no  straw  hat  lying  on  it,  nor  any  body  of 
the  murdered  blackmailer. 

Alice  breathed  a  quick  sigh  of  relief,  and  said 
softly :  "Thank  goodness !" 

I  kissed  her  and  said :  "I  tell  you  what,  it's  pos- 
sible that  you  fancied  .you  saw  a  straw  hat  be- 
cause you  noticed  it  so  strongly  on  the  night  we 
found  the  body;  and  the  sight  of  the  lawn  again 
suggested  it  so  vividly  to  you  that  you  actually  saw 
it." 

"No;  I  saw  it  too  distinctly — much  too  distinctly 
for  it  to  be  any  fancy,"  she  said  firmly. 

"Well,  perhaps  there  was  a  real  straw  hat,"  I  said. 
"It's  a  hot  night;  and  very  likely  somebody  did  come 
on  to  the  lawn  and  threw  his  hat  down  before  he  sat 
down  himself.  If  you  had  looked  further  on  the 
lawn,  you'd  have  seen  him  sitting  or  lying  on  the 


THE  COURSE  OF.  TRUE  LOVE   337 

ground,  and  probably  smoking — a  quite  harmless 
real  man." 

"And  where  is  he  ?"  she  said. 

"He  has  had  plenty  of  time  to  go  away,"  said  I. 

She  shook  her  head  as  if  that  did  not  satisfy  her, 
either;  and  we  went  a  few  steps  farther  on  the 
lawn. 

All  at  once  I  had  an  odd  feeling,  quite  strong, 
that  there  was  something  wrong  with  the  lawn.  I 
thought  that  I  must  have  caught  some  of  Alice's 
fright;  and  just  as  I  felt  it  she  shivered. 

I  did  not  say  anything;  I  turned  quietly  round, 
and  we  walked  off  the  lawn.  It  took  rather  an  effort 
not  to  jump  out  of  it  at  the  entrance;  a  chill  ran 
down  my  back,  and  I  had  a  horrid  feeling  that  some- 
thing, something  beastly,  was  behind  me — coming 
after  me.  Alice  gasped  and  gripped  my  arm  hard. 

Once  we  were  clear  of  the  entrance,  the  feeling 
stopped,  as  though  the  thing,  whatever  it  was,  came 
no  farther  than  the  lawn.  But  we  walked  away 
from  it  pretty  quickly. 

We  had  gone  about  twenty  yards,  when  Alice  said 
in  a  voice  that  had  gone  shaky  again:  "There  is 
something  wrong  about  that  lawn.  I  am  sure  of  it. 
I  felt  it — oh,  ever  so  distinctly." 


338  ALICE  DEVINE 

"Well,  it's  natural  that  you  should  find  a  place 
creepy  where  you  suddenly  come  upon  the  body  of 
a  murdered  man.  But  you  saw  for  yourself  that 
the  lawn  was  absolutely  empty,"  said  I. 

I  did  not  see  that  anything  was  to  be  gained  by 
telling  her  that  I  had  caught  some  of  her  fright,  and 
found  tne  lawn  creepy,  too.  If  I  did,  she'd  never 
come  into  the  garden  at  night  without  feeling  un- 
comfortable. 

"Yes;  I  saw  that  it  was  empty,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause;  but  she  did  not  say  it  as  if  she  found  that 
fact  at  all  satisfying. 

We  walked  on  out  of  the  garden,  going  more 
slowly  the  nearer  we  came  to  the  gate ;  and  then  we 
were  some  time  in  her  uncle's  porch  before  she  rang 
the  bell. 

I  walked  back  to  my  house  in  a  quite  contented 
frame  of  mind.  Alice's  fright  had  forced  my  hand 
and  settled  things  for  us.  It  had  for  the  time  being 
put  the  ghost  trick  out  of  my  mind.  In  fact,  one 
ghost  had  laid  the  other ;  and  I  was  very  glad  that  it 
had.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  had  spent  the  night 
before  traveling  across  Europe,  I  was  a  long  while 
getting  to  sleep.  I  had  to  think  about  Alice. 

When,  blushing  and  smiling,  she  met  me  in  the 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   339 

garden  next  morning,  she  looked  perfectly  adorable. 
We  lost  no  time  in  finding  a  secluded  corner;  and 
we  were  very  happy  in  it. 

We  had  plenty  of  things  to  talk  about;  but  our 
talk  was  rather  jerky  and  interrupted.  It  must  have 
been  nearly  an  hour  before  we  got  to  the  subject 
of  her  fright  the  night  before.  She  was  still  quite 
sure  that  she  had  seen  a  straw  hat  lying  on  the  lawn, 
and  that  it  was  not  a  real  straw  hat. 

rAt  last  I  said  carelessly,  without  thinking :  "Then 
I  tell  you  what  it  was.  It  was  a  judgment  on  you." 

"A  judgment  ?"  she  said,  looking  puzzled. 

"Yes ;  a  judgment  on  you  for  the  fright  you  gave 
me." 

"Me  ?  Give  you  a  fright  ?"  she  ,said,  looking  more 
puzzled. 

"Yes ;  when  you  played  the  ghost  the  night  I  slept 
at  Number  9,"  I  said. 

She  happened  to  be  sitting  on  my  knee.  She 
jumped  up  and  stared  at  me,  blinking,  as  if  she 
couldn't  believe  her  ears. 

"You — you — was  it  you?"  she  stammered;  and 
there  was  a  fine  flush  on  her  face ;  and  her  eyes  began 
to  sparkle. 

"It  was,  indeed,"  I  said. 


340  ALICE  DEVINE 

"You — you — were  that — that  horrid  cad?"  she 
cried. 

"Oh,  come,"  I  said,  rather  taken  aback.  "What 
did  you  expect  me  to  do  ?  I  catch  a  pretty  girl  play- 
ing a  trick  like  that  on  me  to  get  her  uncle  out  of 
paying  his  rent,  and  of  course  I  kiss  her — a  la  guerre 
comme  a  la  guerre.  I  couldn't  beat  you  for  the  hor- 
rid fright,  you'd  given  me,  could  I  ?" 

"My  uncle's  rent?  What  do  you  mean?"  she 
cried. 

My  heart  jumped  joyfully.  I  had  been  right; 
she  had  not  known  her  uncle's  little  game.  I  had 
always  been  sure  of  it  really. 

"Why,  didn't  you  know  ?  Your  uncle  was  trying 
to  get  his  house  rent-free  on  the  ground  that  Num- 
ber 9  was  haunted,"  I  blurted  out  like  a  born  idiot. 

She  stood  quite  still,  staring  at  me,  and  wringing 
her  hands :  "So  that  was  his  joke,"  she  said,  "And 
— and  what  you  must  have  been  thinking  of  me  all 
this  time!  Oh " 

"I  thought  that  your  uncle  had  told  you  that  it 
was  just  a  joke  he  was  playing  on  a  friend,"  I  said 
quickly. 

"You  did  not !"  she  cried. 

"I  did!"  cried  I. 


34i 

"You  did  not!  You  thought — oh,  you  thought 
that  I  was  a  party  to  the  trick." 

"I  did  not — never.  I  knew  you  couldn't  be,"  I 
said  stoutly. 

"You  did — you  did.  Oh,  I  understand  now — the 
things  that  puzzled  me — the  way  you've  looked  at 
me  sometimes.  And  that  kiss — oh,  how  I've  hated 
you  for  that  kiss!" 

"It  couldn't  have  been  me  you  hated  for  it,  because 
you  didn't  know  it  was  me.  Besides,  the  other  kisses 
have  wiped  it  away,"  I  said. 

She  rubbed  her  lips;  and  her  eyes  blazed  at  me. 

"I'll  never — never  speak  to  you  again,"  she  cried. 
"Not  for  the  kiss  so  much,  but  for  thinking  that  of 
me.  It  was — it  was  shameful!  And  oh — I  did 
think  so  much  of  you !"  Her-voice  broke  a  little. 

"But  I  tell  you,  I  didn't  think  it !"  I  cried. 

"You  did.  I  know  you  did,"  she  said.  And  she 
turned  and  went  quickly  out  of  the  lawn,  not 
straight,  but  wavering,  as  if  she  did  not  quite  see 
where  she  was  going. 

I  sat  still;  and  if  I  looked  as  big  a  fool  as  I  felt, 
I  must  have  looked  a  congenital  idiot.  I  did  not 
follow  her.  At  the  moment  I  did  not  quite  see  what 
to  do.  I  thought  I  had  better  give  her  time  to  get 


342  ALICE  DEVINE 

over  it  a  little.  It  was  a  mess :  it  was  not  only  that 
she  believed  me  to  have  been  thinking  badly  of  her, 
I  was  also  the  person  she  had  been  detesting  for  that 
kiss.  I  thought  that  she  would  get  over  the  kiss 
pretty  soon ;  for  as  I  told  her,  there  were  those  other 
kisses.  But  she  would  be  some  time  getting  over 
my  having  believed  that  she  had  been  a  party  to  her 
uncle's  little  game.  I  was  sure  that  that  would  hurt 
her  horribly.  I  wondered  how  I  could  ever  have 
been  such  a  fool  as  to  think  it.  Then  I  told  myself, 
with  details,  what  I  thought  of  myself  for  letting 
her  learn  that  I  had  thought  it. 

It  eased  my  mind  a  little ;  and  I  settled  down  again 
to  decide  what  I  should  do.  I  first  made  up  my 
mind  to  give  her  a  week  to  get  over  it  somewhat. 
Then  I  considered  how  horribly  hurt  she  would  be 
feeling  all  that  time,  and  how  wretched  it  would 
make  her.  I  could  not  stand  it.  It  must  be  stopped 
at  once,  somehow.  But  I  could  not  think  how.  It 
was  beyond  my  brains  to  find  a  way.  At  last  I  had 
an  idea;  there  was  just  a  chance  that  she  might  be 
bullied  out  of  her  wretchedness  at  once,  while  she 
was  still  upset. 

It  was  worth  trying;  in  fact,  it  was  the  only  thing 
to  try  if  I  would  not  wait.  I  walked  quickly  to 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   343 

Number  9;  and  on  the  way  it  occurred  to  me  that 
her  uncle  had  got  us  into  the  mess,  and  the  least  he 
could  do  was  to  help  us  out  of  it.  He  might  have 
a  great  deal  of  influence  with  her;  she  might  even 
be  frightened  of  him.  It  would  be  so  much  better 
that  she  should  have  one  unpleasant  quarter  of  an 
hour  than  that  she  should  be  miserable  for  a  week. 
Besides,  I  should  probably  find  it  very  difficult,  if 
not  quite  impossible,  to  get  an  interview  with  her  on 
my  own  account ;  he  might  at  least  try  to  work  that 
for  me. 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  try  it,  and  rang  the  bell. 
The  butler  said  that  Mr.  Scruton  was  at  home,  left 
me  in  the  drawing-room  for  a  gouple  of  minutes 
and  then  took  me  to  the  smoking-room.  Scruton 
was  sitting  in  a  big  armchair,  smoking  a  cigar,  with 
a  novel  on  his  knee.  When  I  came  into  the  room 
he  jumped  up  to  greet  me  with  such  a  bright  face 
that  I  fancied  that  novel-reading  was  not  one  of  his 
strong  points. 

We  greeted  each  other;  he  gave  me  a  cigarette; 
and  we  sat  down  facing  each  other. 

"I've  come  to  see  you  on  an  important  matter," 
I  said.  "I  want  to  marry  your  niece." 

Scruton  rose,  came  slowly  to  me  with  a  solemn 


344  ALICE  DEVINE 

air,  held  out  an  enormous  hand  and  said :  "Shake, 
Lord  Garthoyle." 

I  shook  the  enormous  hand;  and  he  said  sol- 
emnly: "She  is  yours." 

"That's  just  what  she  isn't;  and  it's  your  fault," 
I  said. 

Scruton's  face  fell;  and  he  said  anxiously:  "My 
fault?" 

"Yes.  I  had  fixed  the  matter  up,  and  I  was  just 
thinking  of  beginning  to  discuss  the  date  of  our 
marriage,  when  I  stopped  to  say  something  about 
the  ghost  trick  you  set  her  to  play  on  me." 

"She  didn't  know  why  she  was  playing  it;  she 
thought  it  was  just  a  joke,"  said  Scruton  quickly. 

"Yes ;  but  when  she  found  out  that  I  was  the  man 
she  had  played  it  on,  she  refused  to  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  me.  You  see,  when  I  jumped  out 
of  bed  and  caught  her,  I  kissed  her." 

"That  was  not  the  way  to  treat  a  lady,"  said 
Scruton  gloomily.  "Any  lady  would  resent  it." 

"Well,  that's  your  fault;  it  was  you  that  put  her 
into  the  false  position.  It  couldn't  have  happened 
if  you  hadn't,"  I  said.  "But  that  isn't  the  worst  of 
it.  I  let  out  that  I  thought  she  knew  that  you  were 
trying  to  get  off  paying  your  rent." 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   345 

"But  you  ought  to  have  known  for  certain  that 
she  didn't  know  anything  about  it.  A  girl  like  Alice 
wouldn't  have  a  thing  to  say  to  a  bluff  like  that," 
said  Scruton. 

"Of  course,  I  know  that  now,"  I  said  shortly. 
"But  how  on  earth  was  I  to  know  that  she  was  a 
girl  like  that  at  the  time?  It's  so  confusing  to  catch 
a  girl  in  a  woolen  dressing-gown,  walking  up  and 
down  one's  bedroom  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  sighing  like  a  woman  who  committed  suicide 
in  it." 

"I  thought  that  a  man  of  your  birth  and  social 
training  could  tell  a  lady  at  once,  under  any  circum- 
stances," said  Scruton,  with  a  kind  of  solemn  sur- 
prise. 

"In  a  nearly  dark  room?  How  possibly  could 
I?"  I  asked. 

"By  instinct,"  said  Scruton. 

I  stared  at  him.  I  thought  he  was  pulling  my  leg. 
But  he  was  quite  serious . 

"You  must  be  mad,"  I  said. 

He  shook  his  head,  looked  sad  and  said :  "I'm 
an  old-fashioned  Tory,  and  I've  a  great  admiration 
for  the  House  of  Lords.  I  certainly  expect  a  peer 
of  the  realm  to  know  a  thing  like  that  by  instinct." 


346  ALICE  DEVINE 

"But  how  the  devil  is  instinct  to  get  a  show  in  a 
dark  room?"  I  said  rather  loudly. 

"It's  a  sixth  sense,"  said  Scruton. 

"Sixth  sense  be  damned !"  I  said  louder  still. 

"It's  no  good  getting-  heated  about  it.  If  you 
haven't  got  it,  you  haven't,"  said  Scruton;  and  he 
looked  at  me  in  a  disappointed  kind  of  way. 

It  was  no  good  getting  heated  about  it,  and  I  said 
nothing  for  a  minute  or  two.  Scruton  said  nothing 
either;  he  seemed  to  be  thinking  it  out. 

"Well  ?"  I  said  at  last,  rather  grumpily. 

"Well,  it  will  be  a  great  disappointment  to  me  if 
this  match  falls  through,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  have 
always  expected  Alice  to  marry  well,  but  this — this 
surpasses  my  most  sanguine  expectation.  Though  I 
must  say  that  it  is  rather  a  disappointment  to  find 
you  lacking  in  an  instinct  like  that.  I  shall  settle  a 
hundred  thousand  pounds  on  her,  if  she  marries  you, 
Lord  Garthoyle." 

"That's  very  handsome  of  you ;  but  as  things  are 
at  present  she  won't  marry  me.  She's  dead  set 
against  it,"  I  said  gloomily. 

"But  she'll  forgive  you;  you  must  persuade  her; 
she  must  listen  to  reason.  Surely  something  can  be 
done,"  he  said,  frowning. 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   347 

\ 

"Something  has  got  to  be  done.  Your  infernal 
thriftiness  in  the  matter  of  house-rent  has  got  us 
into  this  mess;  and  I  think  it's  up  to  you  to  get  us 
out  of  it,"  I  said  firmly. 

"Well,  I'll  see  what  I  can  do,"  he  said  slowly,  evi- 
dently trying  to  think  of  a  plan.  "I'm  not  a  ladies' 
man,  of  course ;  but  I'm  not  unused  to  women.  I've 
been  married  several  times." 

"Several  times!"  I  howled. 

"Yes ;  when  I  was  in  business  on  the  Pacific  slope 
— married  and  divorced.  Oh,  it's  very  common 
out  there,  you  know.  But  am  I  to  understand  that 
before  you  let  this  out,  Alice  had  definitely  accepted 
you?" 

"Oh,  yes;  quite  definitely,"  I  said. 

"Well,  an  acceptance  of  a  proposal  of  marriage 
is  a  very  serious  thing,  and  I  shall  have  to  speak  to 
her  seriously  about  it,"  he  said  solemnly,  and  he  rang 
the  bell. 

The  butler  came,  and  Scruton  told  him  to  tell 
Alice  that  he  wanted  to  speak  to  her  in  the  smoking- 
room.  We  waited  two  or  three  minutes,  and  then 
the  butler  came  back  and  said  that  Miss  Devine  had 
a  headache  and  was  staying  in  her  room.  I  won- 
dered whether  she  had  guessed  that  I  had  followed 


348  ALICE  DEVINE 

her  home.  Of  course,  she  might  have  seen  me  come 
to  the  house  from  her  window. 

"Tell  her  that,  headache  or  no  headache,  I  want  to 
speak  to  her  at  once,"  said  Scruton  impatiently;  and 
the  butler  went. 

"Look  here,  you're  not  going  to  be  harsh  with 
her.  She's  a  good  deal  upset,"  I  said,  beginning  to 
repent  a  little  at  having  brought  him  into  it. 

"I  shall  do  what  the  circumstances  require — no 
more  and  no  less,"  said  Scruton;  and  I  wondered  if 
he  had  learnt  to  speak  like  a  copy-book  on  the  Pacific 
slope. 

He  took  up  his  stand  on  the  hearthrug  and  kept 
pulling  at  his  beard.  We  waited  for  nearly  five  min- 
utes, without  saying  much  to  each  other.  Then 
the  door  opened,  and  Alice  came  in. 

She  was  pale;  and  she  looked  as  if  she  had  been 
crying  her  eyes  out.  But  at  the  sight  of  me  her  face 
flamed  red  enough,  and  she  stopped  short. 

"What  is  it  you  want,  Uncle  ?"  she  said  defiantly ; 
and  it  looked  as  if  Scruton  was  going  to  find  it  a 
difficult  job. 

"Lord  Garthoyle  has  come  to  me  with  a  com- 
plaint— a  very  serious  complaint  about  you,"  said 
Scruton  in  a  very  solemn  tone. 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   349 

"Lord  Garthoyle — a  complaint — about  me?"  said 
Alice,  rather  as  if  the  idea  had  taken  her  breath 
away. 

"Yes,  a  complaint;  he  tells  me  that  he  did  you 
the  honor  to  make  you  a  proposal  of  marriage.  Is 
that  so?"  Scruton  went  on  in  the  same  solemn 
tone. 

"Yes,  he  did.    But "  said  Alice. 

"And  he  also  tells  me  that  you  accepted  it;  and 
then  you  suddenly  changed  your  mind,  and  rejected 
him." 

"Did  he  tell  you  why  ?"  cried  Alice. 

"Let  us  keep  to  the  facts,"  said  Scruton,  with  a 
lordly  wave  of  his  hand.  "The  Scrutons  and  the 
Devines  have  always  been  scrupulously  honorable 
people" — he  paused,  and  added  quickly — "in  their 
matrimonial  affairs.  It  has  always  been  the  tradi- 
tion of  the  family — both  families.  And  I'm  shocked 
— yes,  shocked  beyond  measure — to  find  that  you 
have  been  playing  fast  and  loose  with  this — er — er — 
amiable  young  man." 

"Fast  and  loose — amiable?"  said  Alice  in  a  stupe- 
fied sort  of  voice. 

"Fast  and  loose,"  said  Scruton;  and  he  reminded 
me  of  a  talking  steam-roller.  "You  accepted  his 


350  ALICE  DEVINE 

proposal  of  marriage,  and  in — in — how  long  was 
it?" — He  turned  to  me. 

"About  ten  hours,"  I  said. 

"As  short  a  time  as  that!  Monstrous!"  cried 
Scruton  very  indignantly.  "In  ten  hours  you  chuck 
— you — er — er — reject  him.  It's  shocking,  this 
coquetry !" 

"Coquetry?"  said  Alice,  with  a  gasp. 

"Yes,  coquetry — heartless  coquetry !"  roared  Scru- 
ton. "I  say  it's  shocking!  Why,  dash  it  all!  It's 
bad  form!  Well,  I  have  sent  for  you  to  tell  you 
that  I  will  not  have  it!"  He  was  fairly  bellowing 
now.  "I  will  not  have  a  niece  of  mine  behaving  in 
this  disgraceful  way.  You  will  marry  Lord  Gar- 
thoyle  in  a  month  from  now " 

"But,  Uncle "  cried  Alice,  looking  a  little 

stunned. 

"Not  a  word!  Not  a  word!"  bellowed  Scruton. 
"You  marry  Lord  Garthoyle  in  a  month  from  now, 
and  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  I'm  going  straight  to 
my  lawyers  to  instruct  them  to  draw  up  the  settle- 
ments." 

He  walked  to  the  door  rather  quickly,  and  was 
out  of  the  room  before  Alice  could  recover  herself. 

She  turned  on  me  furiously,  with  blazing  eyes, 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   351 

and  cried :  "To  come  to  my  uncle ;  Oh,  you  have — • 
you  have  a — a- " 

"Cheek — yes — I  was  born  with  it.  I've  told  you 
so  before,"  I  said,  walking  quietly  across  the  room. 
"But,  after  all,  there  was  no  one  else  to  go  to. 
Surely  your  uncle's  the  proper  person.  He's  your 
guardian,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know. 
And,  after  all,  you  can't  deny  that  he  has  settled 
the  matter  in  a  thoroughly  satisfactory  way." 

"Settled  it!  You  think  he's  settled  it?  It  isn't 
settled  at  all!"  she  cried,  if  anything  more  furiously. 

"You  heard  what  your  uncle  said.  Of  course,  it's 
settled." 

"It  isn't  settled !"  she  cried. 

"Come,  come.  It's  no  good  kicking  against  the 
pricks,"  I  said  gently.  "Come  and  sit  on  my  knee, 
and  we'll  settle  next  where  we'll  spend  our  honey- 
moon." 

"Oh,  you — how  dare  you?"  she  cried;  and  she 
made  a  dash  for  the  door. 

It  was  just  what  I  was  expecting,  and  I  was  ready. 
She  dashed  right  into  my  arms,  and  I  picked  her  up. 

"Rupert,  don't!"  she  cried. 

The  "Rupert"  was  all  I  wanted;  so  I  did. 

THE  END 


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